Dreadful Journey
by Slayer Isis
Summary: Part 5 of the Meant To Be series...Ten months have passed since Dean and Sam left Illinois. John Winchester is dead. And too much has happened.....better summary inside...COMPLETE!
1. Ch 1 x A Brief History

_**Part 5** in the **Meant To Be** series_

…**DREADFUL JOURNEY**…

Written by Slayer Isis

_Summary:_ John Winchester is dead. Ten months have passed since Dean and Sam were with Amy. The boys realize Mary, Jessica, and Grammy were not the only ones destroyed by the Demon. A lot's happened in ten months. Birthdays gone by. And there are those holding onto pain and guilt more than hope and strength. Revenge is called upon.

_Summary Note_: According to the CW's _Supernatural_, from Season One's "Hell House" to Season Two's "Playthings" (and everything in between) have occurred. It's been ten months since Part 4 of the series. (A lot's happened in between, and all will be explained). I try to write these stories parallel with the actual television show – so all the same monsters/demons/supernatural things have been faced; basically this is _Supernatural_ with additional characters like Amy. (Takes place in February 2007).

_Author's Note_: I couldn't wait to write – so I had to make a new story ASAP

_Rated_: PG – PG-13

_Distribution_: I do not own _Supernatural_, it all belongs to Eric Kripke and the CW and etc. I do not wish to be sued. Etc. (I own Amy and anyone else that I, have obviously, made up.)

_Dedication:_ To my sister, Sarah. Also to the cast and crew of _Supernatural_ – they've all done a great job and have delivered a great show – hope to see it last for at least 5 years (or 10).

Feedbacks/Comments/Reviews much appreciated. (Note: I foresee that I'll be able to complete this story successfully and on time, without any pause or delay, if I receive many comments. _Just a thought_.)

Thus, I introduce the fifth installment of the _Meant To Be_ series

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter One – A Brief Tale**

_Dear Diary,_

_This record, which I keep, could damage a lot of people. I'm meant to keep this. Amy says it's important to document everything. In case anything was to happen. After my accident, my mother wanted me to see a therapist as a "just in case." But if this diaryt were to fall into the wrong hands, fingers would be pointed and others would be called crazy. Anyway, so I see this guy. Dr. Flanders. (How much of a doctor-name can you get?) He thought it was a good idea to be "evaluated" after my accident. Apparently I was "too happy" directly after. But I sunk into a depression after Jaclyn "Grammy" Forrester died. Her death was mysterious to most. But not for Dean and Sam Winchester. Sam had had a vision that night. He said a demon killed her. Actually, "the demon."_

_Things got worse when a police officer found a camera at the scene of the fire that night. The pictures showed Grammy on the ceiling. Her stomach was bleeding._

_There was a deep investigation. And never had there been a suspect. At least, not a real suspect. I was just sort of there on the sidelines. I was heartbroken about Grammy. This woman had tried to help me while I was in a comatose state – and my "spirit" was roaming around. I cried for days. Amy was worse. She was either crying or silent._

_Dean and Sam took it in a different way. There was no way to comfort them either. Dean drank a lot and Sam would stay up most nights with Amy. _

_I'm Amy's roommate now. My plan was to move back home and it was my idea to move in – to keep an eye on her._

_She's still in a strange condition. She accepted things nearly nine months ago. Nine long months. It's as if Grammy never died. But there's still a look in her eyes…I can't stand to be in a room with Amy for more than ten minutes. I have to make a lame excuse and run to the bathroom and cry._

_Dean and Amy had a bad fight, before he left with Sam. Amy, hysterical, was almost willing to quit her job as a professor and begged to be a part of 'the fight. Dean wouldn't let her. He said, "It's too dangerous." Amy almost slapped him. She wouldn't cry, but she was fighting against it. The fight was pretty bad._

_Dean and Sam left a week after the funeral. Sam said a sad goodbye, promising he and Dean would return with any good news._

_Then we got the word that their father died. _

_Grammy's death had such an effect on Amy…I never realized what John Winchester's death would do. She took a month off work. Cried, a lot. But hopefully my presence helped her. We had a lot of late nights, crying, drinking, and occasionally breaking things._

_It's almost a year since we've both seen Dean and Sam. They rarely call. Mostly because Amy was in so much pain after learning about John, she refused to answer their calls, not because she was angry at them in any way…she was depressed. Their voices made her want to cry. "They're a reminder of what we've all lost…" she told me one night. _

_I've learned, after a brief phone call from Sam, that Dean and Amy are so alike in terrible ways. Throughout the entire ordeal, they shut themselves up. Yes, Amy's opened up…but day by day…it's like living with a shell of what was Amy Cromwell – a woman I admired, looked up to, and befriended. It was two months ago since I had contact with Sam. He told me some stuff of what had happened. But not a lot. Sam purposely told me that A LOT has happened. Things Amy can't know now. He made me promise to watch out for her – like that was a hard promise to make._

_She's in her room now. Working. She's thrown herself into her work. She finally got her PhD in Art History. She's now Doctor Amy Cromwell._

_Have I also mentioned that Amy is apparently losing her psychic abilities? And Sam hasn't made much of a change in his own – just more visions. But yes, Amy. Even though Sam knows, and Dean doesn't, I know that Amy could see dead people. But she can't anymore. Ever since Grammy, Amy said she couldn't see Mary or Jessica. She occasionally saw some at a cemetery or at a hospital – but soon they all faded away from all perception. Amy says she can't "feel" like she used to – I take that statement in different ways. _

_At least the nosebleeds have stopped. I was worried about her before. I thought this psychic stuff was going to kill her._

_Amy still has her "empathic" abilities – they're not as strong though._

_I hope Dean and Sam are okay, or alive for that matter. It's been a long time since we've heard anything. I wondered IF they were to be killed…would we ever find out? Would there be someone there to notify anyone?_

_It's a scary thought. It's not really even my world. But then again…I'm sure Dean, Sam, and Amy had a different world. She mentioned before she missed 1997. I didn't understand that. But then she told me about the time loop._

_She's filled me in on everything. Demons. Ghosts. Monsters. And your average psychos, like Hunter Austin – who is in a prison cell in Los Angeles._

_As for me, I think I'm fine. I barely knew Grammy – but I was still screwed up after her death. She was innocent. And John Winchester…I didn't know him…but Amy's description was enough to make me want to ball up in a corner and disappear. I miss having the ability to disappear. It would make things easier._

_Mom says I'm in an "unhealthy" environment. I can't abandon Amy. She saved me before. Maybe I can do the same back._

_I wonder if Dean and Amy are technically still "together." I wonder if Amy will smile for real someday. She's a twenty-seven-year-old success in her profession…but she can't enjoy anything. And I hope Sam and Dean are alive and well. And if they're not well…_

_At least they're alive._

_Diary, I'll write again soon. I write three times a day. Amy says I'm a good writer, if I actually put effort into it. I've suggested Amy take a diary too. She says she doesn't have the time. As Dr. Cromwell, she has a lot more work to do. But I think she keeps one. _

_I want Sam to call. Hearing his voice would be some comfort._

O.O.O.O.O.

North Platte, Nebraska…

The Roadhouse was slow tonight. A few hunters and two or three "normal" men. Ellen was cleaning glasses up by the bar, wearing old jeans and a red blouse. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail; a few escapee curls dangled by her cheeks. The Sad Mask was on. Ash called it that. He was already stone cold drunk, asleep on the pool table in the back, snoring loud enough for people to hear over the jukebox's music. Ellen last heard that Jo, the "runaway" daughter as she called, was in Montana with a cousin. Jo was apparently practicing shooting and hunting deer. Ellen wasn't surprised when Jo took-up-and-left to become the hunter she always wanted to be. She had been angry as hell. But there was nothing to do about it. Jo was twenty-one-years-old, too old to chase after and drag back by the hair.

Ellen turned around, leaning against the bar, placing the last clean glass away, and spotted Dean drinking in the darkness of the bar. He and Sam had returned from a hunt she sent them on – in Connecticut - something involving "creepy ass dolls" (as Dean quoted) and Hodou. She had offered them a spare room to stay at in the back. Dean and Sam had no trouble driving up the highway thirty minutes to a hotel, but tonight was not a night for a long drive.

Dean was drowning in negative emotions. Anger, sadness, worry. Ellen knew it was because of Sam. Because of the yellow-eyed Demon, the bastard that had claimed the life of their father.

Sam had already been drunk that night. He was asleep on one of the cots in the back. Dean was a slow drinker, Ellen saw. He took his time to let everything flow through him.

Something had happened. Something Demon-related. But Dean wouldn't admit what. He still thought it was a "family business" involving the Demon and the psychics…the people like Sam.

She wouldn't budge from her place. Ellen had a bar to tend to. Even though it was close to closing, Ellen knew she would kick the others out, let Ash sleep on the pool table, and leave Dean with an extra beer.

He sat in the corner, at his own round table, drinking a glass of whiskey in small sips. He wasn't _as_ clean-shaven; scruffy and almost dirty looking. His hair felt dry and his hands seemed rougher. He wore a pair of jeans, holes and tears included, and a black shirt with his brown leather jacket on top.

Sitting there, miserable and drunk, Dean found the time to stop the drinking and he let his head fall into his hands.

"_Take care of Sam…" _John's voice appeared in his head. _"Love and protect him always. But something may happen…and you might have to kill him…take care of Sammy…and yourself…"_

"_Promise me Dean!" _Sam had recently yelled, drunk. _"If I turn evil – if I go dark side – you'll kill me!" _And Dean had replied with an "I promise" and forced his brother into bed.

Killing Sam was not an option. Dean made this promise to _himself_. He would protect Sam. He would prevent anything from happening. Despite what they've been through, Dean knew that Winchesters were strong. And Sam was stronger than him. Sam couldn't possibly turn evil. It was all a mistake. An ugly, false, mistake.

He was more miserable than he could imagine. Dean was worried he consumed alcohol more than eating anything decent. Ellen was a gracious hostess, she had a small kitchen in the back, and she made eggs and bacon every morning, and cooked dinner. She said, "Damned if I'm a servant of a Winchester" and let the boys fend for themselves what to have for lunch. But it wasn't a problem. They had been there for about a week. It wasn't a miserable experience. Dean played poker during the day, usually chatting with a few hunters near the evening. Sam spent his time with Ash – both were on their own laptops, trying to find any patterns the demon might have left behind.

Tonight was just one of those nights. A night of much needed alcohol and sleep.

Sleep…he felt as if he hadn't had that in so long. Of course, he got drunk a lot and could sleep in until one…but there was that longing for an actual _good_ night's rest.

Or to fall asleep on a couch with Amy in his arms…

Dean shut his eyes tight. He mentally called himself a bastard every time he thought of her. He missed her. Sam missed her. And most of all…Dean was sorry for the fight they had had.

It was a bad one. Perhaps the worse he and Amy had ever had…or anyone ever had.

It was questionable whether they were still "together" or not.

But he was miserable. He was a jerk. _Yep, I'm a jerk alright…and a bastard…and a lousy boyfriend…I'll be lucky if I still am a boyfriend…_

He rested his chin on his fist.

Dean hadn't even been the one to call Amy to tell her John was dead. Sam had that responsibility. The twenty-seven-year-old hunter couldn't bear to give the news. He talked to her for three minutes about four months ago. It was just to check up on her. Neither of them could say anything for a while. Amy was unusually silent and Dean couldn't pick a decent telephone conversation. He wondered if she was upset. Heartbroken. Or still grieving.

He missed the sound of her voice. It would be easy to wake Sam from his dead sleep and convince him to drive the Impala to Illinois ASAP.

_Still too dangerous, _Dean told himself. _She has a normal life now. At least more normal than before. And I know Izzy is taking care of her._

He wasn't alright. And Dean was wrong to think that Amy was alright too.

With a final gulp of whiskey, Dean got up to throw himself in his cot, opposite Sam's, and fell asleep. There were no dreams for Dean. And the same went for Sam.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean Karajan, in a blue suit and gray tie, sat behind his desk with wide eyes and mouth opened. He made a sound, sort of like "Kawha"…but paused. He shook his head and rubbed his chin nervously.

"Dr. Cromwell…" Dean Karajan addressed Amy, who sat across from him in gray slacks and a white dress shirt. "I'm certainly at a loss for words. _Please,_" he begged, "reconsider."

The dye from her hair was gone and was back to its usual brown. Her posture was so straight, so structured; it made the dean of Northwestern uncomfortable in his seat. But her propriety wasn't the whole of it.

"You've turned yourself into a successful young woman – at your age…" Dean Karajan gulped again. "You've just earned your doctorate!" He shook his head, as if waiting for Amy to say "Gotcha!" and reveal the joke.

She was sitting simply with one leg crossed over the other. Amy sighed, rubbing her cold hands, and blinked slowly.

"I thought about this decision very carefully…" Amy explained. "I can't tell you how grateful I am for the opportunities you've given me. You didn't show me sympathy, when people thought I needed it, you showed compassion…" She gave the dean a half-smile.

"Think of your students," Dean Karajan tried.

Amy grinned softly. "They'll live. They'll understand. Of course, they'll continue their education."

"I don't und-understand," he gasped. "This is really happening, isn't it?"

"Dean Karajan…" Amy whispered soothingly. "I don't want to quit being a professor _forever_. But right now my place isn't in a university. I'd like to do more. I've already made some interviews at some high schools. It's time for me to try and inspire the younger generation."

"But, you've just earned your PhD," Karajan exclaimed, "not to mention, you have the opportunity – if you don't want to be a professor – you can apply for jobs as an art director or a museum curator – think of the possibility – you can curate your own museum in France!"

She smiled sweetly again as if Karajan had offered her a piece of candy.

"In time," Amy finished. "If it's what I want to do…I'll have no problem getting a job. I love Northwestern, and I hope maybe to have a position in a decade or so."

Dean Karajan laughed warmly. He nodded slowly, not in agreement, but in understanding.

"We'll surely miss you," the dean muttered.

"I'd like to work for the rest of the semester," Amy replied. "And in May I'll resign. It'll give me more than enough time to prepare for being a high school teacher." She got up slowly and walked toward the mahogany door.

"Dr. Cromwell…" Dean Karajan called, and waited for Amy to pause in her steps and look his way. "Thank you," he mentioned, "for allowing us to harbor such talent. You're still young, _Dr_. Cromwell, and I know there's something big in your future. Don't let that kind of hope go." He smiled, the sweetest smile she had ever seen on that man's face. "There's more to all of this, isn't it?"

There was not another word, just more smiles. And Amy left, leaving Dean Karajan silent in his seat.

O.O.O.O.O.

"Your parents are going to be pissed," Isabella exclaimed. She was still hoping Amy would change her mind. The two young women sat inside a Starbucks coffee shop. They sat at a round table in the corner, near the glass, where they could see dozens of people walking through the small shops.

Amy drank her coffee slowly and nodded. "I'll wait to tell them the news later."

"Amy," Isabella begged, "c'mon…you just became 'Doctor Cromwell'…and you want to work at a high school?"

"Northwestern is no longer the place I need to be," Amy defended.

Isabella noticed that Amy's clothes fit her differently. She was thinner. Amy had done a lot of jogging (and less swimming). Izzy could hear her get up at five on the weekend, go running for two hours, and return from her run without a word.

"I just don't get it, Amy," Isabella sighed. She drank her cappuccino, biting her lip, and shook her head.

"I need a change…" Amy whispered nicely. She was all smiles today.

Isabella had also noticed that Amy seemed to be turning into the Amy she remembered when she first met her. Long, simple brown hair and a soft complexion. Only Amy seemed softer than before. Softer as in weaker. It was like Amy was turning into the person she used to be before she fully took on the 'psychic' persona.

"And, with a PhD, I have many opportunities, if I don't like the teens, then I can find something else," Amy announced cheerily. "Things will be fine."

"But are you?" Izzy demanded, placing her cup back down on the table. There was only silence as they drank their coffee. They left minutes later to catch a movie and go shopping. Even though Isabella couldn't understand it, she played along with Amy's "happy day." At least no one was crying.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam couldn't explain why he woke up at six in the morning. There had been no dreams. No terrifying, death-related, demon-related visions. He just woke up.

He rubbed his tired face, yawning, catching the taste of tequila in the back of his throat. Sitting up in his cot, Sam was shirtless and was still in his pair of jeans. Apparently he hadn't changed for bed when he had thrown himself into his pillow.

Dean was sound asleep in the cot across the room. It was a small room, but it was comfortable. Two cots, a small desk, and a dresser. Their bags hadn't been emptied completely; a few rifles and guns were scattered across the desk.

Licking his dry lips, Sam got up slowly, his bare feet creaking against the wood floor, and made his way to the desk.

He sat down in a rickety chair and Sam reached into his bag and pulled out an old-looking, black, leather book. It was small and the pages were a creamy yellow color.

Isabella had told him about the journal she kept – or a diary – and Sam thought it was something of a good idea. At least he could get out everything without breaking down – or making Dean feel uncomfortable. Sam knew he wasn't as dedicated to it as Isabella was.

He opened to a page he left off at and took a pencil that had been placed on the inside.

_Dean and I finished case in Connecticut last week. _(Sam didn't write "Dear Diary" or "Journal" as his heading. He just wrote). _More Voodoo/Hoodoo stuff. It's been a while since we handled a case like that._

_A lot's happened since Illinois. I feel like that was the last time Dean and I were at least happy. There've been a few laughs. But nothing real. I realize now that Illinois is our escape. Even though it seems like a magnet for the supernatural, but being there, with Amy, at her apartment, makes it feel like it's our own personal haven. Even with the supernatural on our ass, we have a piece of what it feels like to be normal. _

_I wish Dean would say the word and nothing would delay a speedy trip back to Evanston. We miss Amy. But things are too complicated. She has no idea what's happening._

_And I admit I want it to keep that way. Dean was right, I think. This isn't exactly Amy's world. She's more normal – especially when Dean and I far away._

_The less she knows about the Demon, and the others like me, the safer she is. I never understood why the demon went after Jessica, my mom, even Grammy. The demon said before, when I had asked, that he had "plans" for me. And when I questioned why it killed the others, he said, "They were in the way." Grammy was more of a threat than Amy?_

_It doesn't matter how much we question it. Despite what we WANT, Dean and I probably won't return to see Amy for a while. I know she's okay, with Izzy there, but I know something's wrong. I feel it._

_There's just so much that's happened. It's hard for me to decipher if I'm being paranoid, or psychic._

_The Hell House case was simple. It was one of the minor cases we've dealt with._

_Then there was the Shtriga, a witch that cold absorb the life forces of young children. That case kinda went too close to home. Apparently it came to me when I was a kid. Dean made a mistake, and it all explained why Dean was so loyal and subservient to our dad._

_Then I met Sarah. A case of an angry spirit of a little girl, killing people through a painting, had been an intimidating case. Sarah was just as intimidating. I admit I've thought about her. But now's not the time to think about that. Maybe some day…soon…_

_Vampires. They actually exist. And we met up with Dad, luckily. I miss him._

_I had a vision of a baby girl and her mother…Dean and I saved them…Meg returned. Then Dad was taken by the demons. Dean and I didn't deal with Meg's exorcism too well – she had been a real person. An innocent. And she died. We found our father, but later, unfortunately, realized he was under possession of The Demon._

_The crash. Dean's coma. Dad's death… It was all too much to handle._

_All I can say is that I hate clowns._

_More vampires and we met up with a hunter named Gordon we didn't know then he was psychotic. Vampires can actually be good…? I couldn't understand. Dean had a tougher time dealing with it. We grew up believing the world was black and white, good and bad, positive and negative. It made hunting easier…then…things are more complicated now._

_Necromancy. Zombies. Not Romero's kind. The dead girl broke my right wrist – thus I've had a cast on it since then._

_Andy. Another one like me. Possessed the power of persuasion. He killed his evil twin, Webber, who was probably under the influence of The Demon._

_Jo almost got herself killed. She went against her mother's wishes, and next thing I know we're teamed up to take on America's first serial killer: Holmes. Jo later revealed that it was Dad's fault that her father died. She's taken off, since then, in training to be a hunter. She has a while before she can take on something alone._

_We were held as suspects in a murder. Turned out one of the cops was a bad guy, and we had a good cop to help us out. It was another angry spirit case._

_Then…souls being bargained for…ten years of whatever you want…and people actually give up their soul for that sort of thing. A demon mentioned that Dad did something similar…and…he's in hell…but it's impossible. Dad's not there. We've slowly come to realize that's why Dad died – he gave himself up to save Dean…_

_Rivergrove. The demon virus. The entire town disappeared…and I was immune to the virus…why???_

_I finally learned the truth. Dean told me he would have to kill me if I turned evil. Going darkside. I can't see myself doing that…but I'm not sure anymore…The Demon has "plans" for me…_

_Ava…she's gone…taken by The Demon…and it's my fault…_

_Cornwall Inn. Our recent case. We saved a woman and her daughter. It was the Hodou/Hoodoo case._

_And here I am. Isabella says that writing helps in some way. It does, I admit. This cast doesn't make it easy, but the strain is worth it. Sometimes I reread what I write. It brings me down for a moment, but I find some hope in some things. But it's not enough._

_Maybe it'll never be enough._

Sam stopped scribbling the last word when he heard Dean move in bed. He groaned, turning to his other side, and continued to sleep. The twenty-three-year-old dropped the pencil on the desk and closed the leather book.

_I can't turn evil, _Sam thought. _I won't let myself…and I know Dean won't let it happen either…_

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Hope you're enjoying so far – comments/reviews much appreciated! Will update ASAP.


	2. Ch 2 x The Case

/N: I intend for this story to focus more on everyone's personal issues/problems. There will be a case (obviously, from the title of this chapter). This story may go longer than the others I've written. Thanks for reading and enjoy.

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Two – The Case**

Dean wore a thin, gray sweater and jeans as he sat down at the bar. It was nine o'clock in the morning and he wasn't the first to get up. Sam had been up earlier – and he had nudged Ash from his deep sleep. The two were in the back, both on laptops, clicking and typing away. Dean rubbed his tired face, looking down as Ellen, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt, put down a cup of coffee before him.

"No Jack before noon," Ellen said, "that's my rule."

"Thanks," Dean said plainly. He took the cup and drank it slowly. Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He went through his contacts and found the first name at the top of the list was Amy's. He was tempted to press SEND and give her a call, but instead Dean just dropped his cell phone on the counter.

Ellen looked strangely down at the phone, picked it up, and glanced at the name highlighted.

"Amy…" Ellen mouthed. "This your girl?"

Dean looked up quickly; Ellen nodded her head toward Sam – signaling that he had told her about Amy.

"Umm," Dean thought. "She was…I'm not sure how things are now."

"Call her. Ask," Ellen said simply. Dean looked up at her, giving her a sarcastic grin, and shook his head. "So c'mon," Ellen crooned. She poured herself a cup of black coffee. "Tell me about her."

"You really are a nosey woman…first you want news on demons and now about the females in my life?" Dean chuckled.

"I'm a woman," Ellen said proudly. "Let it out, Dean. Could be helpful. Besides, demon talk gets old."

He took a large gulp of his coffee.

"I've known her since birth, apparently," Dean began. He seemed miserable talking about it. "Our parents were best buds with hers. We grew up together, that sort of thing…"

He trailed off, imagining the way she looked, and smiled gently. "She's beautiful," Dean mentioned. "Not like other girls I've…" He coughed. "She's different. She's simple. But difficult. Tough. Fragile, at the same time. She _can't _cook…Smart. Boy, is she smart. She skipped class as much as I did and her SAT scores were great. She could have gone anywhere…but I guess she felt like she needed to stay close to home…" _Or close to Sam, _Dean thought.

"She loves art. And movies. And books. She's your average girl…" Dean sighed. "With psychic abilities too. Not exactly like Sam. She's a…_normal_ psychic…"

"This girl sounds special…" Ellen noted. "Now why don't you call her?"

Dean shook his head sadly, the grin faded away. "She's better off."

"Oh c'mon Winchester," Ellen snapped, "it's been almost a year, hasn't it?"

"It's difficult…" Dean finished. He said nothing else. He drank his coffee in silence and Ellen was left staring down at the phone with Amy's number still highlighted.

O.O.O.O.O.

Friday afternoon meant Martini Parties. Amy's friends created the custom shortly after the "jerk of a boyfriend" left town after Amy's close friend was killed in the fire.

KC and Dana sat with Amy and Isabella, drinking pink martinis, while the other girls were ordering more drinks. The bar they were at was meant specifically for women only. Any female who could order alcohol usually came here to have a good time with friends, or drown in sorrow.

Amy was doing both. She was on her fourth martini; laughing with an equally drunk KC. Isabella was still on her first drink, chatting with Dana. Rochelle, Violet, and Erin returned to their usual table, on the second floor of the bar, with a tray of fresh drinks.

"Here ya go ladies," Violet announced.

Isabella denied a second glass, keeping a careful eye on Amy.

The subject: Dean. Of course. Girls get drunk and they bring up the "jerk of a boyfriend."

But it wasn't a negative conversation. KC had brought up how "cute" Dean was. The others were deep in conversation on the same topic – Sam was a main topic too.

"He's the prettiest man I've ever seen," Amy grinned, leaning on her elbow, tipsy-drunk. "He was a little odd looking as a child." Everyone laughed. "But _maaan_…when he got older…he got _sooo_ cute. And now…he has the prettiest eyes…and if you look close enough…you can see freckles underneath his eyes…he used to blame it on the time we would go to the beach…my family always took Dean and Sam on our beach trips…but wow…and his lips…" All the girls moaned and giggled as their eyes glazed over and they were imagining Dean's face. "He has these adorable, pouty lips…" Amy sighed. She took another sip of her martini. "I miss those lips," she whispered – no one else heard the comment but Izzy.

"And that brother…" Rochelle grinned, drinking her martini, "what a cutie…"

"Oh I know," Amy smiled, "he's always been a cutie. He and Dean have the same level of handsomeness I think…only Sam is the good, innocent-looking one…and Dean was always the badass…"

"Mmm…" Violet savored the imaginary moment. "Both boys equally cute…"

Rochelle: "And adorable."

KC: "Hot."

Dana: "Sexy."

Erin: "Just yummy…"

Isabella: "Good men…"

Everyone turned to look at her. They giggled; Amy was the only one who took the comment seriously. She nodded in agreement with Izzy while the others chatted about the "hot" or "sexy" Winchester brothers. Amy and Isabella had a silent toast, tipping their glasses together, and taking a single gulp.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Isabella had driven the Mini Coop. back. Amy was easy to sober up. The two females came up the stairs, slowly, with Amy leaning into Isabella miserably.

They came to the floor – noticing someone standing by the door.

Dressed in police attire and a concerned look, Officer Blake Evans waited patiently for Isabella and Amy to confront him.

"Ladies," Blake greeted, resting his hands on his belt. He dropped them weakly, noticing Amy's state. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine Blake," Amy grinned softly. "Just one of those 'woe-is-me' drinking moments. 'Haven't seen you in a while?"

Isabella got out the key to let everyone in. Blake followed, allowing Amy to go first.

Amy removed her black coat and let it rest across the kitchen counter. She turned to Blake, seriously, and asked, "Is there something wrong?"

He shifted weight nervously. His glance was toward Isabella – who was staring back confused.

"I think we should talk in private, Amy," Blake offered.

Amy turned and laughed. "Oh no. Whatever it is. Izzy can hear. You two remember one another…"

Isabella squinted her eyes at the handsome officer.

"You're one of the officers who were part of my investigation…" Isabella suddenly remembered.

Blake nodded. "Yes…but we really must talk…"

"You can say whatever it is to Izzy and me," Amy repeated, "so, shoot."

Blake took a deep breath and sighed. There was something in his posture and voice that concerned Amy greatly, suddenly.

"I got word from a police friend of mine in Florida…" Blake explained, leaning against the wall, "there was a fire at the Ashley Honor Hospital in St. Augustine. Started in the maternity ward."

"Oh, that's terrible," Isabella whispered.

Blake nodded. "My buddy told me…he got a witness statement – which wasn't printed – and…" He paused, staring at Amy sadly. "He told me that a nurse told him – and him only – that she claimed to have seen one of the patients…" He gulped. And with everything he was saying, Amy suddenly realized what he was about to say… "One of the patients was pinned to the ceiling."

_The Demon?_

Isabella placed her hand over her mouth quickly.

"According to the current investigation of the fire," Blake continued, "it started in one of the rooms – on the ceiling – the very same room where the woman was seen pinned to the top…"

"Oh my…" Amy murmured. She had her hand placed over her stomach. That nauseating feeling was hitting her hard.

"My buddy only told me after hearing about the fire that happened here…with…" He wouldn't bring himself to say her name. "But…Amy…the statement about the woman pinned to her ceiling won't be printed. No one will find out…I thought I should come and tell you…I know this is sort of your area…" He breathed. "This supernatural stuff."

"Wait," Isabella snapped, "you know?"

Blake bit his lip: "My wife died a while ago…"

Amy finished: "His wife, Penelope…" She sighed. "She came to _see_ me…she needed help…" Isabella suddenly realized what Amy was talking about exactly.

"Amy helped me say goodbye…" Blake explained. "That's why I help Amy out when I can…"

There it was. The answer. Isabella remembered a questioning Dean and Sam on why Officer Blake Evans was so helpful during the Isabella-crisis.

Blake had a folded yellow envelope inside his jacket. He pulled it up, handed it to Amy slowly, and explained: "This is the police report. And the information about the room where the fire supposedly started."

"What happened to the woman…that the nurse saw?" Amy asked.

"Some people were killed in that fire Amy…some were injured getting out…the patient, in that room…" Blake bowed his head grimly. "Hasn't been found. Not even ashes…"

"You're not just going to go to Florida, are you?" Isabella asked worriedly. She was beginning to think-

"No," Amy whispered. Her glance was staring plainly at the envelope. She looked up, staring at Isabella and Blake, and said, "I'm not a hunter. I'm an art teacher."

She left them, but they followed anyway, and Isabella and Blake were led to Amy's bedroom.

She sat down on the computer, removing the reports and other papers from the envelope, and began lay them on her scanner.

"What are you doing?" Blake asked.

Amy typed fast, opening up e-mail, and said, "Giving the case to someone I know who can handle it."

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam joined Dean at the bar counter, drinking coffee, and saying good morning to Ellen. He was fresh out of the shower – jeans, heavy boots, and a black hoodie with a brown jacket over it. It was cold outside – and even colder in the bar.

Dean had dressed too: jeans, the thin gray sweater, and leather jacket. He rubbed his face tiredly, it was three in the afternoon, and neither of them had done anything, but play cards, research, and drink coffee.

"You boys look bored," Ellen noticed, after serving drinks to two older men sitting on the opposite side.

"Bored, no," Sam grinned. "Jittery, yes."

At that point, Ash, in a sleeveless, red flannel shirt and jeans, walked over, carrying Sam's laptop with him. He placed it before Sam, running his hand through his mullet, and said, with a tired Southern accent, "Here ya go, Sam." His voice was slightly hoarse. "Looks like you got some mail."

Sam, thinking it must be another one from his friends back at Stanford, looked at the screen.

His eyes widened a bit.

"What is it?" Dean asked, taking a sip from his third coffee in the day.

Sam looked at Dean, then back at the screen. He used his left hand to move the cursor around and explained: "I got an e-mail from Amy…" Dean grew still. "The subject says: MYSTERISOUS FIRE – ST. AUGUSTINE, FLORIDA."

"Well open it…" Dean ordered.

Sam did as he was told.

Had it been the fact that Amy sent the e-mail, or the subject that had Sam and Dean worried?

"Whoa…" Sam breathed, staring at the small paragraph Amy had written, below were attachments of documents she had scanned. Dean gave another annoyed look and Sam continued:

"_Dear Sam and Dean, _

_Officer Blake Evans gave me this information. _

_St. Augustine, Florida – Ashley Honor Hospital – Fire on maternity ward – Cause of Fire Unknown._

_A statement taken from a police friend of Blake's says that a woman was pinned to the ceiling of her room while the fire occurred. Statement was taken from a nurse named Virginia Dye. Some were killed, many were injured. The woman, in question, who was seen on the ceiling, was not found after returning to the damaged remains of the ward._

_Police report, hospital report, and other documents attached._

_Good luck._

_-Amy_"

Dean sat back in the stool, amazed and wide-eyed, and pursed his lips.

"The Demon, you think?" Ellen asked.

Sam and Dean looked at one another. Obviously, it was.

"We're getting our gear together, now," Dean instructed. He got up from the stool and ordered Ash, "Go through the documents Amy sent and print it out for us, alright?" Ash nodded. "And see if you can gather up any more info before we leave."

"Gotcha Chief," Ash saluted. He was taking the ordering-around better than before – if it involved The Demon, it was a situation meant to be taken seriously.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean threw rifles and other guns into his duffel bag, turning around, and watched Sam gather his things too. They were alone in the backroom, Ellen was going to make a phone call to the hospital to gather any useful information, and Ash was doing his thing getting the documents.

"You think Amy's there?" Dean asked.

Sam turned, stuffing some clothes into his bag, "Not sure. You think?"

"She's left us a similar message before, maybe she'll meet up with us there…" Dean suggested.

"Hope not."

"Yeah, same."

The brothers remained silent. Sam stuffed a T-shirt roughly into his bag, ignoring the look Dean gave him, and continued to pack.

"I can't believe there's just been another attack…" Sam snapped, throwing the bag onto the floor. Dean knew this was coming. He turned, angry, upset, frantic, "I didn't even have a vision this time…"

"Dude, don't start." Dean warned. "I know you're pissed as well. I am too. But you can't have a vision about all of this."

"Of course, Dean!" Sam shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "I have visions – most of them Demon-related!" He paced the floor. "First, I couldn't save Ava! Now this! PEOPLE DIED IN THAT FIRE APPARENTLY, DEAN! AND THE WOMAN IN THAT ROOM!"

"HEY, LISTEN TO ME!" Dean shouted. Both of their faces were red; necks and fists clenching. "We're figure it out, okay! And if we're dealing with the demon – then we handle it!"

"We haven't dealt with it since-"

"I know…" Dean muttered gently. He kept his hands on his waist. "So maybe now's the time. Maybe we have another showdown…"

"Are we ready…" Sam asked. He was worried. Dean was too. Was this the time Sam would face his supposed destiny? Did the Demon finally want him…

"We're always ready, Sammy," Dean assured. "And if it's happening now…and if it's meant to end now…then it will…not get your crap together…we're on the road in five."

Dean shoved one last gun into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left the room. Sam was left alone, still pacing, rubbing his temple.

The Demon. They would face it again…

And the outcome would be final one…

Hopefully.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Reviews/Comments appreciated. Will update ASAP.

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	3. Ch 3 x The Tears I Shed

**Chapter Three – The Tears I Shed**

She remembered seeing a cemetery as a little girl. Then, it appeared as if there were miles and miles of headstones. Far beyond the horizon and never stopping. Her first funeral had been at the age of four. Mary Winchester's.

Dressed in jeans and her light brown leather jacket, Amy stepped across the cold, crunchy grass. She carried a bouquet of white and yellow tulips tied with a pink bow. It was disturbing to notice how close the headstones were together; Amy was afraid she would step on someone's deathbed.

_Jaclyn Ingram Forrester_

_1944 - 2006_

_A Gentle Spirit Set Free_

She gulped staring at the headstone. There it was, right there…She imagined a fourth line:

_Killed By Demon_

"I know it's wrong to think it was my fault…" Amy spoke gently. She knelt down, on a single knee, laying the flowers on the dirt. "I kinda think it's stupid to be talking to a gravestone…you're not even buried here…" Her eyes traced over the _Jaclyn Ingram Forrester_. "There was nothing to bury…except some pictures…your friends and family wanted to do that…"

There was a chilly breeze then. She felt it sting her cheeks. Her hands were already numb. She should have been wearing a scarf and gloves.

_1944 – 2006…_

Amy smiled sadly. "You would have been annoyed with the service." She bit her lip. "It was nothing like you said you wanted it to be…they sang a bunch of hymns at church…the funeral was depressing…you wanted it to be lively. You wanted a "party"…not a funeral…I couldn't have a say…people didn't even know who I was…your daughter came…she cried…a lot…I hugged her once…then I left…"

She wiped her hand over her mouth; her eyes were still studying every shade of the gray, marble gravestone.

"I want to see you…" Amy begged silently. She looked up at the sky, half-expecting to see Grammy's face looking down through the clouds.

"I don't know what's happening…" she choked out, fighting every tear struggling to break through, "when I met you…you made sense out of things…now…" She bit her lip again; the cold was making her entire body numb.

"I miss you…" Amy sighed. "And I miss Dean and Sam…and I know you'd tell me to call them…demand they drive here…" She sniffed. Then coughed. And sniffed again. "I thought I was _meant _to be a part of their lives…" Her tone switched from sad to bitter. "Mary told me I had a greater purpose in all this…I mean…I _saw_ Mary die when I was four…in a dream…I was meant to be a part of Dean and Sam's life…I got these powers…I thought my destiny was tied in with theirs…" She shook her head angrily. "I don't understand what's happening…" She pursed her lips. "I'm losing my power…I'm losing interest in the things I used to love…in May, I won't be a professor anymore…I want a change…" She breathed out, deeply, seeing her cold breath in the air. "I hate changes. I know I'm changing too…but in a way…I feel like I'm turning into that Amy that existed nine years ago. She wasn't a bad person. She wasn't pathetic. But the Amy I turned into later…that's who I want to be…and I'm losing her…"

She stared down at the dirt, digging her nails into it and stroking them into the grass.

"Like I lost you…" Amy snapped. "I don't understand why the Demon came after you…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "You had nothing to do with Sam and Dean…except through me…and…" She coughed again, fighting every weakness inside… "I feel like it should have been me. I lost you…and now I'm losing myself…"

There was no stopping them. Each tear escaped – strolling down her cheeks and dripping from her jaw.

"And what I hate the most…what I'm more afraid of…is losing _them_…" Amy admitted sadly, still talking to the gravestone. "Dean and Sam…" She licked her wet lips, tasting the salty residue of her tears. "They're not letting me in. They still think we live in different worlds…and I'm afraid of them getting hurt…I'm afraid of the Demon…I want to protect them. My dad always told me to look after them, when we were just kids…" She shook her head. "They were _my_ responsibility once…" She shook her head again. "Somehow…I've become theirs…and I'm not meant to be a burden…" She laughed, still crying, tilting her head to the side. "But now I don't know what I'm meant for…maybe what I thought was my destiny…was nothing…maybe turning back into that old Amy…the professor of Northwestern…dating a doctor…having a normal life…" The final tear rolled down her cheek. "Maybe that's all there is for me. It was never a bad life…but…"

She choked at her words, putting her hand over her mouth as she gasped. "I just…" She sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut. "I just want a life with _them_ in it…"

Her chest hurt because she cried so much. She gasped for breath continuously. Amy buried her face into her hands, dropping down to both knees, not caring she was getting grass stains on her pants.

There was that choking feeling that was adjunct with crying. She couldn't stop. Every time she tried to stop and take a deep breath…it made her want to cry more.

And she did. Eventually her hands left her face and she touched the gravestone. She was kneeling down before the gravestone like a disciple would before a cross. Amy was praying, to Grammy, to let her have Dean and Sam back.

And she asked for forgiveness.

_I know it wasn't my fault…I KNOW…but…_Amy sobbed again, stroking Grammy's engrave name. _You'd be alive if it weren't for me…_

O.O.O.O.O.


	4. Ch 4 x The Conversation

**Chapter Four – A Conversation**

It would be twenty-four hours and 1,600 miles to go before reaching St. Augustine. Some time had passed, already, and a sign reading: _NOW LEAVING NEBRESKA_ had been in the rearview mirror of the Impala about half an hour ago. The highway was mostly desolate. The Impala drove fast and loud.

Dean drove – afraid Sam would lose control in one of his anger attacks. He was having more outbursts lately, which worried Dean.

Sam had read the document Amy sent in silence. Dean wasn't going to say or ask anything of Sam until the younger Winchester was ready to explain what was going on.

"Fire began in the maternity ward…" Sam finally announced. He waited to know every detail before explaining anything. "Two doctors, three nurses, and five patients were injured in the fire…two patients and a doctor was killed in the fire…" He shook his head sadly. "The newborn babies in the ward were evacuated immediately…" He looked through the papers once more. "The nurse, Virginia Dye, claimed she saw a female patient, in Room 20-C, pinned to the ceiling…reports say that's where the fire began…"

He held his breath for a moment and Sam touched his temple grimly. "The patient's name was Yvonne Donnelly. She recently gave birth to a little girl…Aurora Donnelly…six pounds - eight ounces…" He slammed his fist – with the cast – on the passenger door of the car.

"She gave birth to a baby girl…" Dean repeated sadly. "A new set of psychics, you think?" Dean was referring to the time when, while John was dealing with Meg, he and Sam were looking out for a young family – with a baby girl – whom the Demon came after. There wasn't an answer from Sam. Dean turned to look at his sibling, watching Sam stare out the window.

"So twenty-two-plus-years ago…my generation of psychics are born…" Sam thought aloud, his voice wasn't necessarily directed to Dean. "And now…a new generation…now we're sure there have been two babies the Demon's gone after."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Does it say anything about the new baby?"

Sam nodded, glancing at the papers, and said, "Aurora Donnelly is in the care of her aunt – Yvonne's sister."

"The dad?"

"Who knows."

"Well…" Dean thought. "We get to Florida…dismiss the fact that we're at a beach with some possible fun…I'll handle the hospital stuff, you go see that baby…"

Sam turned to Dean stiffly. "Could you take this more seriously, please?"

Half-grinning, Dean sighed, "Wasn't trying to make a joke Sammy." He cocked his head. "Besides…we should be laughing it up now before we get there…then we get crazy serious…and _you_, buddy, will not be touching any alcohol, got it?"

Sam shook his head. "Why start so early…"

"What?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes on the road now.

"The Demon never attacked this early…I mean…the babies the Demon actually went after…it wasn't until…what…their six-month-birthday…" Sam realized. "Aurora Donnelly was born February ninth…she's only two-weeks old…"

"Demon's changing the pattern," Dean agreed. "Maybe it's getting anxious. Maybe it knows we're getting close."

"Hardly."

"You know," Dean mocked, "you really could show a little more doubt in all of this. Please. It really helps. Believe me. Just keep talking the way you're talking – add a few death anecdotes – and we're good to go."

"Dean…" Sam said simply, his eyes staring out the window. "The Demon might try to take me…" The air grew tense in the car. "Like it did with Ava…and you remember what you promised…I just…" Sam turned to look at Dean. "If something happens…to me, you-"

"Nothing's going to happen to you, Sammy," Dean said quickly. He pushed on the gas, driving faster, eyes still glued to the road. "The Demon won't come near you. I promise you that. And nothing will take you away…you understand me?" His voice grew deep and commanding. "Do you understand, Sam?"

"Dean-"

"Don't," Dean warned. He looked at Sam deeply; his eyes were aggressive and threatening. "You know I hate this 'Just in case we don't make it' speeches. We will. Mom didn't die for nothing. Jess. Grammy…Dad…" He shook his head, furious. "No one else is dying. Understand? Especially you…"

"What are we going to do when we get there, Dean…" Sam questioned. "Sure, we do the routine…you check the hospital out, I watch out for the baby…then what…we _already_ know it's _the_ Demon…then what…" He snapped. "We don't have the colt, Dean. We have no way of killing the Demon. It's strong. The strongest thing we've ever faced. We can't even use holy water to test who the Demon might be possessing. There's no way of knowing…and my powers…haven't been as helpful lately-"

"We'll think of something when we get there…" Dean interrupted. He refused to look at Sam. "Now stop talking like this, dammit." He forced himself to grin sarcastically. "At least another ten hours. Then you can pitch a bitch fit. But for now…"

Dean turned on some music – blasting AC/DC throughout the car – and sang along to _Shoot To Thrill_. Sam stared blankly at Dean, hiding the crestfallen attitude inside. He turned around, staring at the empty highway beside him, leaning on his elbow.

He thought of his mother. Of Jessica. Grammy. Ava…

_Dad…_Sam thought bitterly. _Things would be easier if you were here…_

Sam, melancholy, muttered, "You can't avoid the conversation, Dean."

Dean continued to sing along with the song. He heard Sam. But he continued to drive and sing and do his best to hide the fact that he was terrified of what was ahead. The journey could end soon…the hunt could be over…

Or it was just the beginning.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update ASAP.

REVIEWS/COMMENTS/FEEDBACK **MUCH** APPRECIATED.


	5. Ch 5 x Dean's Dream

A/N: I have to bring in the Demon into my story, obviously, since _Supernatural_ centers around it. It might be difficult…considering I actually have no idea about the origin of the Demon or the REAL plot of the show. So I'll just have to make up my own until the show decides to give us more background…and maybe I can incorporate MY plot with THEIRS. Once again, _Supernatural _belongs to the CW, Eric Kripke, etc. Just wanted to make a little note.

THANKS FOR ALL MY REVIEWS – YOU'RE ALL AWESOME – AND I'M EXCITED ABOUT THE NEW EPISODE ON TONIGHT!

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Five – Dean's Dream**

With the speedy stops and breaks, Dean and Sam arrived in St. Augustine, Florida at nine o'clock at night the next day. The beaches were lit with lamps and people were having winter parties on the beach. Bonfires, people drinking, music playing…it was a scene that could be much enjoyed. But the Impala drove by all the fun, the old shops, and battlegrounds, to a hotel called Blue Heron. They paid for a room – with two queen-sized beds – under the name Ralph Finland. Like all the hotels near the beach, the beach was the theme of all the hotels. The Blue Heron was decorated flamboyantly with blue wall paper with various designs of seashells near the ceiling and waves near the floor.

The room, luckily, was not the obnoxious blue, but painted a beach-beige color. There were framed pictures of beach scenes – snap shots and paintings – and the beds had dark blue covers and white sheets (with seashell designs, again). Between the two large beds was a small nightstand with a lamp – also decorated in seashell coverings. A dresser, large enough for the men to put their things away, and a circular table with four chairs. The room actually had a great, spacious bathroom. With a mini-fridge, microwave, and _no_ alcohol, Dean could at least enjoy the fact that their stay may possibly be a relaxing one.

He doubted that, even though they knew it was the Demon, Dean worried the damned thing would be long gone. Dropping his bag beside his bed, he fell back, letting his arms fall beside him, and Dean groaned. He was tired; Dean had done most of the driving. It was obvious Sam needed the sleep more than he did. It was too late to question any faculty at the Ashley Honor Hospital and too late to go knocking on Sherry Highland's door, asking her about her sister's death, and questioning what would happen to the baby Aurora now.

Sam unpacked quietly, barely putting his clothes away, but more focused with setting up his laptop and the documents about the fire on the table. He didn't break out the guns or rock salt, afraid at some point the cleaning staff would arrive in the morning, thus deciding to leave everything in the duffel.

Dean removed his jacket and kicked off his boots as he climbed up toward the top of the bed, removed the cover and sheets downward, and crawled into comfort. He covered himself quickly, rolling to his side, and yawned.

"Going to bed already?" Sam asked quietly.

The Conversation hadn't taken place again, not even after ten hours. Sam and Dean didn't even really speak until they saw the sign for _NOW ENTERING ST. AUGUSTNE._

It had been ironic they were in St. Augustine. The city was the oldest in the United States – and St. Augustine was also known to be the most haunted cities in the states as well. They had only commented on that, leaving Dean to sing along to Metallica and Kansas.

Dean muttered something as he closed his eyes and quickly removed his shirt from the covers. "Dude, I promise, we'll get a head start in the morning. You should get some sleep too."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Sam said, arranging the documents neatly into a stack. He yawned too, rubbing his face, and kicked off his boots.

Dean turned in bed, staring at Sam, and asked, "Do you think we should call Amy?"

Sam looked up quickly. "You want to?"

"I dunno. Do you?"

"Do you want to call?"

"I was just asking."

"Dean, stop," Sam laughed. He actually smiled. It had been a small chuckle, actually, but at least it had been a smile.

He took out his cell phone, Dean watched eagerly as Sam did this; Dean sat up in bed while Sam used speed-dial to call _Amy's House_.

The phone rang two times before a familiar voice answered, "Hello?"

He smiled slowly, Sam sighed, "Isabella…"

There was a pause on the phone. Either Izzy had gasped or she was shocked, or both.

"Sam…" Isabella breathed gratefully.

"I just wanted to let you know we're in Florida…we're heading to the hospital tomorrow…" Sam explained.

It took a moment before Isabella said anything. "Oh. Ok. So…it's the Demon, then, right?"

"Yeah," Sam cleared his throat. "We're checking things out tomorrow." He paused. "How are you?"

"Okay," she replied. "I was just doing some history homework."

"How's school?" Sam asked, interested.

"Community college isn't as easy as I thought," Izzy laughed, "but its college."

"Yeah…" Sam sighed, agreeing, he looked up at Dean…who wasn't waiting patiently.

Sam began, "Hey, Izzy-"

"She's not here," Isabella sighed. "It's okay. I know you wanted to talk to her. She's out with some friends. Girls night. I usually take part…but I gotta get a head start on some stuff. You could try calling her cell-"

"No no…it's okay," Sam added. "Just…let her know we're here…"

"Okay, will you call again?" Isabella asked hopefully.

Sam sighed. He bit his lip, stared at Dean, and answered, "Yeah. We'll let you know how things go. Just…send Amy our love, okay?"

"Okay. I will Sam," Isabella whispered. "Be careful Sam. You and Dean, okay? Call when things are…you know…good?"

"I will," Sam breathed. "Good night, Izzy."

"Good night." She hung up.

Sam turned off his phone completely, charged it, and made his way to his own bed.

Dean seemed disappointed.

"We'll call again later," Sam reassured.

He acted as if he didn't care; Dean laughed, sunk deep beneath the covers and sheets, and closed his eyes.

Sam laid his head back, staring up at the blank, white ceiling, counting the number of seashell designs on the ceiling fan.

O.O.O.O.O.

_He was sitting in an auditorium, his arm slung over a chair with a small boy sitting beside him. The room was full of parents, teachers, and siblings, watching the second graders line up on stage in their costumes. The kids were dresses as flowers and plants; the show was called "Nature Sing-A-Song."_

_Dean checked his watch, eyeing the hands carefully, and nudged the little boy beside him. He was close to ten-years-old, wearing a dirty baseball uniform and cap. It was obvious the boy had just come back from a practice. The child slapped his hands against his knees impatiently; the hazel-eyed boy, with brown hair, stared up at Dean and asked, "Dad, when's Mom coming?"_

_He checked the empty seat he was saving. Dean shrugged. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a blue dress shirt. His hair was combed._

"_Mom's probably looking for a parking spot, she'll be here," Dean answered._

_The children on stage were lining up now. Kids were dressed as bushes, trees, daisies, roses, and various other flowers._

_Dean turned to his right sharply as he felt the presence of someone sitting next to him._

_Amy, in khakis and a white blouse, sat her purse down next to her feet. She leaned over, kissing Dean on the side of the mouth, and leaned over to stare at the boy._

"_Tobey," Amy laughed, "I thought I told you to change after practice."_

_The young boy pointed at Dean and explained, "Dad said we should spend more time pitching."_

"_Boy's gotta hell-of an arm," Dean grinned, but Amy scowled with a mock grin. He stopped smiling and pouted his lips. "Sorry," he said weakly._

"_Did you bring the camera?" Amy asked, sneaking her hand into Dean's._

"_Well yes ma'am," Dean answered, leaning down to the floor and picking up his digital recorder._

_Amy's eyes turned to the stage, Dean followed hers, and they found who they were looking for – the little girl was in dead center, wearing a pink, wild flower costume. She stood anxiously on the stage. When the little blonde girl found Amy and Dean staring, she waved happily and grinned._

"_Awe, look at Jackie…" Amy sighed happily. "She's beautiful."_

"_Look at the girl beside her," Tobey sniggered, "she's fat."_

_Dean laughed suddenly with his son. Amy shot him a look and Dean forced himself to stop. He leaned into Amy, putting his arm around her, and putting his other arm around Tobey._

"_Gorgeous," Dean said to Amy, "the only thing that matters is that our daughter looks great on stage. Right?"_

_Amy shook her head and laughed. "You're being a good role model for your son, you know that?"_

_He wrinkled his nose and said, "You know what…I AM a good role model, aren't I?"_

_Tobey jumped in his seat, giving his father a high-five. "He sure is, Mom."_

_Dean leaned in again, kissing Amy on the forehead. The couple held hands, with Dean stroking his finger against her gold wedding band._

"_Oh look, they're starting!" Amy whispered, motioning for Dean to get the digital camera/recorder._

_He held it in the air, focusing it on the adorable blonde, singing a song about flowers. Amy rested her hand on her husbands back, watching her daughter sing and do hand motions with the other children._

"_And the sun will come out!" the children sang…_

"_And I will cry out – TODAY IS THE DAY!_

_TODAY IS THE DAY!_

_Today I'll grow_

_And show_

_How great is the day!_

_How great is the day!"_

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean shot up in bed at four in the morning. He breathed deeply, leaning on his elbow, touching his bare chest. There was no longer the blue dress shirt. He ran his fingers through his messy hair.

He looked over, seeing Sam sound asleep, and decided to rest his head back. Dean took a few more deep breaths.

Desperately trying to forget what he had dreamed, Dean shut his eyes tight and tried to imagine something else.

But Amy still popped into his head. That damned song…

_Amy…_

He missed her. He knew that. Dean couldn't deny it.

But the dream? What the hell did that mean? _I've never thought about marriage…or kids, for Christ's sake…_

He laughed at himself. It was just a dream. A normal dream.

Dean thought: _I bet I was just missing Amy…and thinking about something from the past…I bet Sammy was in some lame-ass play…about singing flowers…_

He turned in bed, pulling the covers more over him, when-

There she was. Standing there.

Amy. She was in her pajamas.

Blood was spilling from her mouth…

And stomach…

Dean nearly fell off the bed. He screamed. Sam didn't move in bed. He continued to sleep.

His eyes were wide, they grew wet, and his mouth dropped. "AMY!"

Amy continued to bleed…she held her hand out for Dean…

He tried to reach for her…

Her entire body was engulfed in flames. The fire encircled her and she screamed out. Dean continued to shout her name. He couldn't move from his bed. He struggled to move…desperately trying to save her…

But he watched her bleed. And burn. Until Amy's body exploded into a cloud of ash…

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean shot up in bed at four in the morning.

He immediately turned to Sam who was sound asleep in his bed.

Leaping from the bed, Dean threw himself at Sam's side, shaking Sam's arm.

The sudden touch had shocked Sam so badly he shot up and out of bed. He almost fell to the floor as Sam scrambled across the bed – trying to figure out what was happening.

"Dean!" Sam questioned, rubbing his eyes. "What-"

"Tell me I'm not dreaming, man…" Dean demanded, rising to his feet.

"Dude, no," Sam snapped crankily. "Dean," Sam looked at the clock, "it's four in the morning. Go back to sleep ok. You were just having a bad dream…"

Dean stopped breathing heavily. He put his hands on his hips, and in the darkness, nodded his head and jumped into bed.

The sudden shock kept Sam from immediately climbing back into bed and continuing his sleep. He stared at Dean for a moment, eying him carefully, and asked, "Dean…" his voice was calmer now. "Are you okay?"

Dean, hidden underneath the covers, mumbled, "Go back to sleep, Sammy…"

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update ASAP. Just wanted to add this little sequence.

Reviews/Comments much appreciated.


	6. Ch 6 x Children Like Me

A/N: So "Night Shifter" was HILARIOUS and fun. My favorite line was Dean's: "(Laughing) I like him. He says 'okie-dokie." Yeah, that just made me smile for like two hours. And when Sam looks at Ronald and says, "Hi Ronald" in a monotone way…Hope you're all enjoying – REVIEWS/COMMENTS ALWAYS APPRECIATED – Thank you all for your great reviews/comments – glad everyone is enjoying it! And there have almost been 1,000 hits (view) to my stories! Incredible!

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Six – Children Like Me**

"It was just a dream, dude," Sam comforted as he buttoned up a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He sat on the edge of his bed, showered and dressed, with one boot still to go. His shaggy hair was still wet – some curls dangled by his forehead. He looked at Dean, sitting at the round table, going over the documents Amy had sent them. His brother wore a red shirt – sleeves rolled up – with a black shirt underneath. He leaned back in his seat, drinking his six AM coffee, and Dean said nothing. "You're just thinking about her," Sam reminded. He stood up and took his plastic coffee cup from the table.

Dean turned slightly, laying the papers back on the table, and rubbed his forehead. "It just felt…real. You know." He huffed silently. "I'm not saying it was one of _your kind_ of dreams…" Sam wrinkled his nose at him. "It was just…I had one dream…then another one after that, which scared the hell outa me…"

"It's obvious the possible Demon-encounter is just screwing with you," Sam noted.

"Yeah, I know you're right," Dean sighed, leaning forward to gather up a few more papers. "It's just…" he began again, annoyed. "I've never thought about marriage…and kids…I mean…I never thought that sort of thing was my scene, you know?"

It was obvious Dean wanted to talk about this seriously. Sam drank his coffee, sitting on Dean's bed, and said, "You miss Amy. Thus, thinking about her – even marriage-wise. It doesn't really have to be about marriage, just Amy…and I'm guessing you've been thinking about whether or not you guys are together…also could explain the marriage-and-kids part…and…" Sam cleared his throat. "The second part just means you're afraid of what could happen to her…"

Dean nodded slowly. "You're right…" he began gently. He looked up at Sam and smirked. "Thanks Dr. Laura."

"Hey-"

"Sorry, Phil?"

"Dean," Sam said soothingly. He stared straight at Dean. "It was just a dream? Okay? Not one of those what-shall-come type things. Okay?"

Dean didn't acknowledge anything Sam said, instead he touched the papers set before him.

"Although…" Sam started, thinking for a moment, causing Dean to look at him. "It is odd…"

"What do you mean?" Dean inquired, drinking his coffee.

Sam grinned. "You said the kids' names were Tobey and Jackie…" Dean nodded. "Those names ring a bell to you?"

"Yeah, Tobey's a gay name," Dean smirked.

Sam shook his head. "Tobey…" he said slowly. "_Tobey_…as in…Tobias…"

"Tobias?" Dean laughed. "Right, we would name one of our kids after a Tempter – from the past – who kidnapped Amy and tried to turn her into an immortal Temptress-"

"You mean the Tempter that died for her?" Sam brought in. Dean grew silent.

"And Jackie…" Dean mentioned. "Jackie as in…"

"Jaclyn…" Sam smiled. "As in Grammy's real name."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam.

"I don't get what you're getting at, man…" Dean whispered.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "First…I know Amy…" He smiled. "And I doubt she would ever name a child Tobias – even though Tobias saved her – she wouldn't honor his memory like that…the name 'Jackie' I can see…but Amy would lean more toward calling her Jaclyn and only Jaclyn…and you said Amy was wearing a gold wedding band?"

"Yeah?" Dean mumbled incredulously…

"Amy hates gold," Sam reminded. "She's never worn it in her life. And Amy isn't the custom-wedding type of girl. Her wedding band would be white gold…and it wouldn't be a plain wedding band…"

"Great…so what we've gained from this…" Dean said as his eyes grew wide, "_you _should marry Amy." Dean grinned. "You know her too well."

"Amy's like my sister, dude," Sam laughed. "Besides…that wasn't the point…and hey, you're the one having the dream."

"Okay, so, if that wasn't the point…then what is…"

"You'll realize it eventually," Sam said, tossing his empty cup into a small trash can beside the bed. He got up, grabbed his blue jacket from the chair, and said, "Get up. We have work to do."

O.O.O.O.O.

_Sunday…_

Isabella sat on the couch, watching a movie on TV, finishing a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. She had gotten up at eight, found she was alone in the apartment, and now, at eight-thirty, still in her pink pajamas, Izzy watched the original _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ movie. It first brought up the question in Izzy's mind: Are vampires real? _Haha, ppsshh, no. _Isabella laughed at herself.

She finished her plate and leaned over to put the dish on the center table. Sinking back into the leather couch, Izzy's head turned when the apartment door opened and Amy jogged in quickly. She was wearing a pair of black sweat pants and a gray hoodie – zipped down to reveal a dark blue sports bra.

"That's all you wore?" Isabella exclaimed. "It's freezing outside!"

"I like the cold," Amy panted, throwing off the hoodie and ran toward the laundry area to throw it into a lime green basket. She came back into the living room and spotted what Izzy was watching.

"Are vampires real?" Isabella asked.

Amy shrugged. "Dunno. Hope not."

Isabella nodded. She looked up at Amy and said, "They called last night."

"Who-" Amy began, but stopped shortly. She knew.

"Really, when?"

Isabella replied, "I guess it was around nine or ten? They just wanted to let us know they arrived in St. Augustine…I'm guessing, as we speak, they're already busy working."

"Oh ok."

Amy sat down on the arm of the couch. Her cheeks were red from running in the cold. The rest of her body looked pale.

"I think they'll call again," Isabella added hopefully.

Amy nodded. "I hope so." She frowned. "I miss them." She looked up, concerned, and asked, "Did they _sound _okay?"

"They weren't very detailed," Isabella said. "I only talked to Sam. But…I mean…they're alive." She smiled weakly. "But they'll call again…"

The phone rang suddenly.

Amy and Isabella grew tense as they heard the ring twice.

She got up slowly and Amy moved toward the phone.

She picked up, answering: "Hello?" Her voice was soft.

"Hi, is this Amy Cromwell?" a woman's voice asked. Her voice was Southern accented. She was cheerful too.

"Umm, yes," Amy replied. She couldn't hide the disappointment – she had hoped it had been _them_.

"Look, umm, I know Dean and Sam," the woman said back.

Amy's eyes grew wide. "Wait, who is this?"

"Oh, sorry honey," the woman replied, "my name is Ellen. I run a bar, called the Roadhouse, in North Platte, Nebraska…" She cleared her voice. "My place is usually crawling with the occasional hunter…Dean and Sam are usuals, now…I know the whole story that's going on with them. I know they're handling a hunt, in Florida, about the Demon…"

_She knows? _Amy thought. "Wait, you know about the Demon?" She gasped. "Wait, who are you exactly?"

"Too long of a story," Ellen explained. "But…I'd like to run something by you…" She sighed. "When these boys are done with their hunt…I know they're going to retreat here…and I know it would be good for them to see a familiar face…" She paused, waiting for some sort of reaction; when she didn't get one, she continued: "You should know these boys miss you. They're a wreck. And I know you know this…"

Amy stiffened as she held the phone close to her ear.

"I know you must be busy with work," Ellen guessed, "but I was hoping, maybe by Friday, you can drive here…I know you're a state away and all…" The tone of her voice was so sweet. She was obviously concerned about Dean and Sam. "I just…I know you don't know as much as you should…believe me, Amy, in my opinion…you should know everything that's been happening in these boys' lives…but it's not my place to tell…so…" Ellen breathed deeply. "I just wanted to let you know that…these guys miss you…and I think, right now especially, they need to see you….even for a moment…"

Amy thought for a moment, she turned around, looking at a confused Isabella, and said, "Thank you, Ellen for calling…" She paused and bit her lip. "Will your directions be faster than the ones I get on MapQuest?"

O.O.O.O.O.

Ten o'clock in the morning was still too early to visit a heartbroken family. Dean and Sam were both staring at the entrance of Ashley Honor Hospital. Even the sign was char grilled. Some letters had faded away or disappeared completely.

The entire left wing of the hospital was not in use. Patients had to be moved to the right wing, or to another hospital itself.

They wore matching black suits – the "Blues Brothers suits," as Dean called them. They carried a clipboard with them as they walked up to a receptionist.

The young blonde, handling dozens of files, looked up cheerfully and said, "Hi, welcome to the Ashley Honor Hospital." She eyed them up and down – they were here on official business, plus she was eyeing Dean. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, we're here with the Florida State Fire Service Association. We're Fire Protection Specialists and we're here to check on the status of fire safety in this hospital," Sam explained.

"Oh, I thought some of you guys came the other day?" the blonde asked.

"We're doing a follow-up," Dean added. "They were here to discuss the particulars in the system. We're here to take a look around and question some of the faculty who were here during the fire."

"Yes sir," the blonde grinned. "Which direction can I point you to?"

"We're looking for a nurse," Sam said, looking at his clipboard, "Virginia Dye?"

"Alrighty…" the blonde nodded. She went through the hospital's database – typed the name – and said, "Nurse Dye is in the right wing. She's in charge of care of the maternity ward that had to be moved there. You'll find her on the third floor."

"Thank you, ma'am," Dean said, turning away.

The blonde stood up suddenly, eyeing Dean again and said, "Please. Come find me if you have any trouble, okay?"

Dean stared at her blankly. He nodded his head and gave a fake smile. He continued to walk away with Sam, to the elevators, leaving the receptionist feeling rejected.

O.O.O.O.O.

Virginia Dye, dressed in a pair of white nurse's pants and a pink-white-striped shirt, was checking a patient's file when Dean and Sam leaned in the doorway.

A woman, pregnant, lied in bed with a man sitting next to her. The couple held hands, watching the nurse look at the clipboard, and smiled.

"Looks like everything is A-okay," Virginia Dye said. She was a Southern Belle, the accent gave it away, and she had large brown hair and small blue eyes. She smiled comfortingly at patient and at her husband, and then walked away.

The nurse found Dean and Sam looming by the door and raised her eyebrows as she exited the room.

"May I help you gentlemen?" the woman asked.

Dean and Sam automatically held up their fake badges.

Dean: "Florida State Fire Service Association."

Sam: "We're Fire Protection Specialists."

O.O.O.O.O.

She had become suddenly depressed at the mention of the fire. They sat in the hospital cafeteria at a booth in the corner. Virginia had a cup of coffee tight in her grip. She stared down at the black liquid, tilting the cup from side to side, sighing and shaking her head.

"It was February tenth…" Nurse Dye explained slowly. "It was my turn to look after the maternity ward on the night shift. I had just left the newborns with Nurse Parton. I was walking down the hall…" She closed her eyes and rubbed the tip of her nose. It was as if she were staining to tell the story. "I was near the Room 20-C…the lights flickered…"

Dean and Sam looked at another, then back at the scared young woman.

Her hands were trembling around the Styrofoam cup. "I…" she laughed at herself. "I got a little scared." She looked up, fighting back the tears. "I saw a light in Room 20-C. Miss Donnelly was in there. I guessed she left the lamp on and fell asleep." A tear glistened down her cheek, trailing to her chin. "She just gave birth to a baby girl the day earlier. A beautiful baby girl…" Virginia Dye couldn't control the emotions.

Sam took a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the woman. She took it graciously and wiped her eyes gently.

"I was walking toward her room…when suddenly I realized I could _smell_ smoke…and not just smoke…but fire…" Virginia looked up at Dean and Sam. "The fire alarm went off. A doctor, I think, was on the intercom, ordering the faculty to evacuate as many people as possible…" She looked up at the ceiling of the cafeteria, staring at the white surface. "But I didn't see any fire…" she explained weakly. "A few nurses were already running down the hall – I ordered four to evacuate the newborns and the other three to get the patients out. The hallway was filled with people running about…"

She bit her lip, hard, forcing herself to stay on track, forcing herself to stay strong…

"I went into Room 20-C…" the nurse sobbed, putting the handkerchief over her mouth. "_And_…" she gasped. "I _saw_ Miss Donnelly…_not_ in bed…_on_ the _ceiling_…" She was sobbing louder now. She coughed and choked at her words, but found the ability to continue. "She was just…_up there_! I mean…really up there…I screamed…and she was covered in fire…and her stomach…" Virginia Dye choked again. "She was bleeding…it looked like _someone_ had cut _her_…"

Putting the handkerchief underneath her nose, the woman took a deep breath and finished, "I felt one of the doctor's grab me and pull me from the room. He hadn't seen her…I asked…and…after the fire was put out…and the night felt like it had lasted a lifetime…I asked the doctor if he had seen what I had seen…he said no…Doctor Craig claimed that he had seen me in the empty room, looking up at the fire-engulfed ceiling…"

She shook her head pitifully. "I _saw_ her…I _know_ I did…"

Sam's face grew tight; his cheeks were sucked in. Nose and ears flared, he rested his hand on the table and said, "I'm sorry, Miss Dye…" He choked on his own words. He felt his brother's eyes on him, but Sam didn't look his way. "Thank you for your statement."

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean tugged off the black tie as he and Sam got into the Impala. He started the ignition, throwing the tie in the back, and looked at Sam.

He sat there, stiff, face forward, hands resting plainly in his lap.

"I think we've heard enough from the hospital…" Dean mentioned. He took the Impala out of the parking lot, getting on the main road, and took a left.

Sam nodded in agreement. "I guess it's time to visit Yvonne Donnelly's family…"

"Yeah…" Dean replied grimly. His hand was tight on the wheel.

_Think about the feeling when you cry. You feel like every word that comes out will make you cry even more. Your nose and eyes get red. Sometimes you even get that red line above your lip. You shake a little. Tight gets so chest because you're fighting hard not to let it out. You even let the tears form there…at first you see fine, feeling the droplets about to break through…But you keep fighting it. Then, tears fill your eyes so much when you can't even see anything but a blur. Your chest gets tight again. You feel your own breath shaking through your body. You close your eyes…and let it out…and it doesn't help. Fighting the tears and letting them free…just kills you more…_

O.O.O.O.O.

Yvonne's sister's name was Perry Hinson, married to Coy Hinson for five years. Perry was young – only twenty-five-years-old, and her husband was only a year older. Coy was luckily well-off. He and his young bride lived in a nice cottage house in a fanciful subdivision. The kind with the manicured lawns and the pool – a subdivision with a Home Owner's Association.

The Impala parked beside the black mailbox that had a small label reading: THE HINSONS.

Dean and Sam got out, tightening their ties again, and peered over the house's red and pink brick.

"Here goes…" Sam muttered.

They approached the door, knocked three times, and waited for the glass door to open before opening up a nice screen door.

A woman answered the door. She was wearing a gray sweater and jeans. Her eyes looked red and puffy. Her skin was the color of caramel and she had dark black hair. Her brown eyes looked lighter than they usually were.

"Yes?" Perry asked.

O.O.O.O.O.

"I understand the hospital wants to compensate for what happened…" Perry said, sniffing into a tissue. She sat in the living room with Dean and Sam. "I'm afraid no amount of money will bring back my sister."

There, in the center of the room, was a cradle.

And that was where little Aurora lay. She was a beautiful baby girl. Apparently her father had been white and her mother was a Dominican Republican. (Yvonne and Perry had been born and raised in the U.S.)

Yvonne had married a man named Bobby Donnelly. According to Perry, he had left after learning his wife was pregnant with his child.

Perry blew her nose into a tissue. Dean sat close to her, watching Sam, who was standing over the white and pink cradle.

She had a small patch of dark black hair. Sam had a small smile on his face, looking down into the baby's turquoise-blue eyes. She was so calm. She wiggled in her cradle, staring up at Sam, her eyes got larger as his smile grew too.

He leaned his hand down gently into the crib. The baby's entire hand couldn't wrap around his finger. She was so small.

"She's beautiful," Sam noted. He couldn't pull his eyes off her. "And she's just precious. So well-behaved."

"She's an angel…" Perry sighed happily, staring at the cradle. "I can't believe…Yvonne won't see her grow up…" She blew her nose again.

"I understand you and your husband will be taking care of her?" Dean asked.

"We finalize the official adoption later in the week," Perry explained. "My husband has been quite wonderful through this. It just so happens we were discussing about having children of our own…I guess we can wait a bit, can't we?" She smiled weakly.

Sam stared down at Aurora – who seemed to be staring at him. Neither of them could pull away – their gazes were locked.

"We're sorry for your loss," Dean explained, his eyes still on Sam. He turned to Perry. "I know you'll be an excellent parent."

Perry nodded, forcing herself not to cry.

"Take care of her…" Sam whispered. He touched Aurora's cheek, feeling how soft her skin was, and pulled away. He turned his eyes on Perry for the first time in the conversation. "She's a special child."

"I know," Perry nodded. She got up from the sofa and peered into the cradle. She hugged herself and smiled at the baby girl. "And I'll make sure Aurora grows up knowing who her mother was."

Dean nodded, still waiting for Sam to do his thing, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the baby.

Nodding to himself, Dean asked Perry, "Mrs. Hinson, I know this is a difficult time." Perry looked at him with full cooperation. "But, since we're handling the insurance – of both Yvonne's and the hospitals – we need to gather up some information about Yvonne's insurance. It's a bit difficult to track it down – since some of the hospital files were burned."

"Yes, I completely understand," Perry nodded anxiously.

"Was there any complication during the birth," Dean began. "Was Yvonne on any medication? Was she complaining of any _weird_ symptoms?"

"Umm…" Perry closed her eyes and thought for a moment. "Umm. I'm not sure." She shrugged. "She wasn't ill. If that's what you mean. As for complications, there were none – Aurora had a perfect birth." She bit her lip.

"Yes, Mrs. Hinson," Dean asked – he had latched himself onto the look on her face.

Perry shrugged. "I did think that…" She looked at Dean. Sam was suddenly back into the conversation. The Winchesters listened intently as Perry explained, "I thought she was being a bit paranoid…before the actual birth. I thought it was normal, you know, for first time mothers…" She nodded to herself. "But I mean…I was a little worried…Perry thought that her baby wasn't going to make it, or something."

"What?" Sam asked softly.

The woman glanced down at the baby. "Yvonne was calling me hour after hour…she made me promise that if anything were to happen to her…she wanted me to take care of her baby…"

She shook her head. "It was like she knew something bad was happening. I asked her if the doctors said there might be complications, but she said no. She said everything was going to be okay. I guess she hardly cared about herself. She just cared about that baby…"

Perry put her hand in the crib, touching Aurora's tiny arm. "Poor Yvonne…" she sighed. "My sister didn't deserve to die in that fire."

Sam looked down into the cradle. Aurora's eyes were oddly still on him. He could have sworn he had seen a small smile…

O.O.O.O.O.

"Nothing," Sam snapped as he and Dean got into the car. "Innocent people are dead. A baby has to grow up without her mother. And…apparently, Yvonne had a clairvoyant sense that something was wrong…and so far…no clue about the Demon."

Dean shook his head as he turned on the ignition. He rubbed his face tiredly.

"You're right, Sammy…" Dean groaned. "I'm not sure what we can do. We can stake out. Look after Aurora for a bit. But that could only last for so long…"

"The Demon won't show up for another twenty-two years…" Sam gritted his teeth. "But then again, if it's changing its pattern…who knows when the damned thing will come?"

"There has to be something, man…I feel it…" Dean thought, stroking his finger against his chin.

"I don't get it Dean…" Sam whispered sadly. His eyes were staring out the window – looking at the house.

"There has to be something to connect us. Some easier way to figure all this out…" Sam shook his head. "I mean…there has to be some connection…the Demon said he had plans for me…and 'All the children' like me…" Sam remembered the Demon, possessing his father, telling him that.

"Well, your generation may be crappy," Dean chirped in. He looked at Sam. "But we're gonna make sure that this generation grows up a happy, long life. Got it?"

Sam wouldn't response. He looked at the house, even when Dean was driving away from it.

"The children like me…" Sam repeated aloud. "With abilities…and not all of these kids have their mothers die in fires…" He put his fist over his mouth. "There has to be something…"

Sam's cell phone rang. He was annoyed; there was no desire to pick it up. Even if it was Amy.

He answered, frustrated, with an almost growl – "Yeah?"

"Hello Sam," a monotone voice replied.

"Who is this," Sam asked plainly.

"Duane Tanner…" the man announced proudly.

Sam scowled. He looked at Dean – who was studying him closely – and Sam asked, "Duane Tanner?" He had been one of the lucky ones to escape the demonic-virus-infected town, Rivergrove.

It was a surprise to hear from him. Sam figured he would never hear from his man again.

"Duane Tanner," Sam repeated.

Dean instantly remembered the name. He had been the one Sam had seen, in a vision, of Dean killing.

"Duane?" Dean mouthed.

Sam nodded.

"Hi Sam, good to hear from you…" Duane answered. "I was just wondering…" he said slowly, "how do you like Florida beaches?"

"What?" Sam demanded. Something wasn't right.

"Duane, I-"

"Listen Sam…" Duane laughed. "You're looking for the answers…" He sighed. "And I can give you the answers…"

"Duane, what is this-"

"My father has a very deep interest in you…" Duane said slyly. "I think you guys met last…oh…when he was possessing your now-dead father."

Sam's nose flared.

"You're one of them, aren't you…" Sam realized aloud.

Dean had already stopped the car on the side of the road.

Sam turned to Dean, turning on the speaker phone on the cell.

"Sammy…" Duane whispered mockingly into the phone. "I know you guys found out about the little baby…she's cute, isn't she?"

"What do you want?" Sam growled, his hand balled into a tight fist; teeth gritting.

"What I want doesn't matter…" Duane answered. "It's what…_he_ wants…" He was laughing again. "And apparently…he wants you, Sammy…"

"I swear to God, I'll _kill_ _every one of you_…" Sam threatened. "YOU HEAR _ME_! I WILL _KILL_ EVERY LAST ONE OF _YOU_!"

"I'll keep in touch, Sammy…" Duane said plainly. "We'll catch up later."

The conversation was done. Sam shut his phone off, turning to Dean.

The "What the hell" look was on each of their faces. Duane Tanner was possessed by one of the Demon's children – a demonic spawn. Had he been possessed the whole time? Even during the virus…

Dean's first thought: _I should have killed the bastard…I should have…_

What was worse…Sam was thinking about his vision as well. He had had a vision of Dean killing Duane. He had stopped Dean from doing so.

But what if Dean had been _meant_ to kill Duane…

The question reformed itself into their heads. But it was scarier to think that the Demon was there. If Duane was there, the Demon had to be there…

Their hearts were racing – their blood was pumping. The rage in Sam grew while the worry grew in Dean. The Impala took off down the road, squealing as its tires smoked the street, leaving Aurora's home in the distance.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update ASAP! (Hehe, liked the Duane part?)

REVIEWS/COMMENTS **MUCH **APPRECIATED. Thank you!


	7. Ch 7 x No Kiss Goodbye

**Chapter Seven – No Kiss Goodbye**

_Dear Diary,_

_Sam called. Finally. They're dealing with the Demon. Again. I wish the guys would call again. At least to talk to Amy. _

_She misses them. Badly. I'm worried about her resigning in May. There's nothing wrong with her job choices – she's still a twenty-seven-year-old success…but she worked hard to be a professor. She worked hard for her PhD._

_I'm still not sure why she is doing this. Her actions are becoming more confusing. There's one point when I think everything will be okay…then I hear her crying in the shower. And when I think she's going to have a breakdown…we have a Girl's Night Out, and watch fun movies and eat popcorn. The same thing for alcohol. Sometimes I think she drinks too much. But then I realize…WHEN she drinks, she drinks a lot…I don't know how to word this. Amy Cromwell is not an alcoholic – not even close – but sometimes I wish she would take it easy._

_I think Amy's thinking about the fight. She said she wanted to take a nap. She closed the door and I could hear her sit slowly on her bed (the mattress squeaked) and then a low sigh._

_I remember the fight too well. I stood there and watched. Sam too. It was kind of like watching "Mommy" and "Daddy" fight. It reminded me of my parents, before the divorce. Their relationship was never bad. Things never got out of hand. There were RARE arguments. But when there was one…it was hell. And I remember watching the same hell as Amy and Dean were arguing._

_It had been a couple of days after the funeral…_

_Dean stood on the balcony, with Amy at his side, and they were silent._

_Although I wasn't there at that exact moment, Amy told me she had said, "I wish you wouldn't leave…" He had said nothing. "And a part of me wants you to go…otherwise that bastard will get away…"_

"_We'll get him," he assured her. I couldn't hear; but I could see. I was washing a few plates in the sink and saw the two on the balcony. Dean's bags were on the floor – packed and ready to go._

_Dean had embraced Amy. She buried her face into the collar of his leather jacket; her hands were placed firmly on his chest. He touched her elbows, stroking her arms, and placed his lips on her forehead._

_That was the good part…_

_I'm not sure what happened next…the sudden outburst surprised me so much, I dropped one of the plates on the floor._

_Amy and Dean were halfway in the apartment – halfway on the balcony._

"_Stop doing this!" Amy screamed._

"_Goddammit!" Dean shouted, raising his hands in the air. "What do you expect me to do? Just _let_ you…?"_

"_It's not like I'm useless, Dean," she fought back; tears were forming. "I can help! Please, Dean…I'm not going to beg."_

"_Fine, then don't!"_

"_Dean!"_

"_Amy!" Dean shouted so loud, Sam, who had been in the shower, came out in just his jeans. Water was still dripping from his air and onto his bare chest._

_I exchanged a glance with Sam, who seemed to understand more about the fight than I ever could._

"_This isn't your scene," Dean said, trying to be calm. "I'm the hunter…you're a chick who teaches art. It's pretty simple, actually. You were always the smart one. Don't be stupid, Amy-"_

"_Stupid?" Amy scoffed. "How does wanting revenge on the thing that killed Grammy stupid?!"_

"_BECAUSE IT'LL GET YOU KILLED!" Dean's voice was so loud, it made _me_ want to cry. "And you'll only get in the way. Stop this Amy…I know you're still grieving…but you can't handle it LIKE THIS!" He started to pace the carpet angrily. "My MOTHER was killed by this thing…Sam's GIRLFRIEND…and now, it took Grammy away from you…I'm sorry, I understand…but please…you can NOT get involved in this!"_

"_IT'S TOO LATE!" Amy sobbed. "I am! Dean…how many times do I have to tell you…things HAPPEN for a reason! I'm MEANT to be a part of this! What were you thinking? My occasional helpful psychic abilities are only called upon on YOUR demand? NO!" She shook her head. "I have just as much of a right!"_

"_I WON'T LET YOU THROW YOUR LIFE AWAY SO YOU CAN DRAG SAM AND ME DOWN!" His voice was getting more intense. "And you're obviously NOT involved-"_

"_Really, why is that?" her voice was mocking him._

"_Because YOU'RE alive, Amy…" Dean snapped. "And Grammy isn't."_

_She approached him fast, wanting to slap him, wanting to hit him, wanting him to stop speaking._

"_This isn't your world," he repeated. "You don't have a place in it." Dean put his hands roughly on his hips. "And if you try to get involved, you'll not just get yourself killed – but us – and more innocent people."_

"_How can you say I'm not part of this?" Amy hissed through trembling lips._

"_Because I AM a part of this, always have, always will…" Dean explained easily. "Ever since I was four, this is what I do…and you've only had a taste of this when you were – how old? – twenty-six?"_

"_That's not fair Dean-"_

"_It's not about fair, dammit!" Dean began again. "You can't handle this sort of stuff – physically – sure, you have a FEW impressive moves, but you're not a great ally in this, understand?" He shook his head again. "This involves MY family. Not yours. Sure, you care about Sam…but he's MY BROTHER…not yours…you have no part of this…you have one dream about my mom, yeah, a lot of good that did-"_

"_You're being pig-headed!"_

"_I'm protecting you."_

"_Well, stop."_

"_Fine, I will…"Dean tilted his head to the side so simply as if to say "I'm done."_

_He grabbed his things from the floor and stormed across the living room. Dean glared at Sam as he walked by, muttering, "Get your stuff. We're leaving in five." _

_I heard Dean stomp through the hall and the door slammed._

_I felt weak for some reason. Not physically. But in a way that I knew I couldn't do anything to help any of this…_

_My eyes went directly to Amy._

_Her eyes were staring directly at the door._

_Sam hadn't been sure what to do…but it didn't matter, Amy walked back onto the balcony, leaning over the rail, and cried._

_Five minutes later…Sam was dressed and ready to leave. He hugged me for just a moment, telling me to "Take care of her"…then he walked onto the balcony._

_The two had hugged. Amy wouldn't cry in his arms. They whispered something to each other – what it was, I don't know – but I saw Sam kiss the top of her head, and he left, without looking back._

_Amy said that was what scared her the most. She said they were signs of something bad happening. I didn't understand. Was she speaking metaphorically…or _psychic_ally…?_

_She had said that Sam – not looking back – was a bad sign on his part…_

_When I asked about Dean and the fight, Amy said it hadn't been the fight…but that he hadn't kissed her. No kiss goodbye. _

_I know she still thinks about that. She says she regrets not chasing after him and latching onto him and not letting go. She wished she had been calmer…in a better "state of mind"…she wished she had had that kiss._

_Their goodbye had scared her. She said it was a bad sign. I still don't know exactly what she means. Either way, it's not going to be good._

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Just wanted to update with a little chapter. Reviews/Comments appreciated. Will update ASAP.


	8. AUTHOR'S NOTE VIEW MY PROFILE

**Author's Note:**

**Hey everyone! DON'T WORRY: this isn't one of those notes where I state that I'll be taking a brief break from writing. **

**I just wanted to inform you all, that by going to my profile (go click the link to my penname and you'll find it), you'll find links to pictures (or a site) that I believe resemble or actually look like the characters I've created in my _Supernatural _series, _Meant To Be_. IF you're satisfied with what your own imagination has created, then disregard this note.**

**I just wanted to show you all what my imagination has created.**

**Pictures will include images of "Amy," "Isabella," "Michael," "Grammy,"…and others…**

**Thanks again – keep reading – and I'll update the next chapter ASAP!**

**-Slayer Isis-**


	9. Ch 8 x Surprise

**Chapter Eight – Surprise**

"I should have shot him in the face," Dean growled. He was pacing the floor, still in the black suit pants and white dress shirt. Ripping off the tie, Dean shook his head and stared at the ceiling of their hotel room.

Duane Tanner. A man whose life was spared. A man who was possessed…

Who knew if he had been the cause of the virus that claimed the lives of dozens of innocent people? And that was even more terrifying…was the Croatoan virus an accidental case…or was the Demon planning it the whole time?

Dean mumbled again, "I should have shot him…" and continued to pace and kick at the side of his bed.

Sam sat on the edge of his bed, forehead in hand, and mumbled, "What do we do now?" He shook his head. "I couldn't even trace the number on my cell…how do we find him?"

"You work on your powers, Psychic Boy," Dean instructed, "I'll get every weapon we have available and get ready for full attack. If we can't find Duane, we stake out Aurora's…" Dean grabbed a knife from the center table and suddenly stabbed it into the plastic surface. Sam didn't jump or move.

He took several deep breaths. Dean clucked his tongue and pursed his lips.

"We'll get the son of a bitch, Sammy, don't you worry 'bout it," Dean reassured.

"Getting _rid_ of the demon possessing Duane may not be difficult…" Sam reminded, hoping Dean wasn't in 'kill-now-ask-questions-later' type of mood. "But remember Dean…if we meet up with _the_ Demon…we might as well bring floss."

"We're not going to sit around on our asses worrying," Dean argued. He sat down on a chair and propped his foot up on the table – beside the knife. "We'll figure something out."

"Duane got into contact with us for a reason…" Sam thought aloud. "Something must be going down."

"Aurora…" Dean reminded. "We just have to look after her. The Demon may come back, who knows…"

"Sitting outside the house may not do enough justice…" Sam sighed. "And…I keep having this feeling…"

"About?" Dean inquired.

Sam shrugged. "Perry said Yvonne was worried about Aurora's birth…like…she _knew_ something was going to happen…"

"You think she was psychic, maybe?" Dean pulled a guess. "Maybe the Demon came to her or something…like it came to Webber?"

More shrugs; more guesses continued.

Dean rested his head back, stretching his arms and neck, letting out a breath of air. The air felt so tight – almost a choking feeling was erupting in their chests.

"I guess we wait for Duane…" Sam said, staring angrily into nothing. Dean caught his glance, watching the emotion build within his brother.

He sat there, watching Sam, and Dean leaned forward, cocking his head to the side, and pulled the knife from the table.

O.O.O.O.O.

Ash had been called and was on duty on finding detailed background information on the dead Yvonne Donnelly.

Sam and Dean sat in their hotel room, awaiting the call or e-mail from Ash, gazing into space.

The men had changed: Dean wore a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up; Sam wore a green T-shirt and a black hoodie.

They wanted to leave the room. Escape. They felt like they had been in the room for years. But it had just been a few hours since they came back from Perry Hinson's home.

It was five o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. Dean could smell the beach. He longed for it. The last time he had actually had a vacation on the beach had been with Amy and her family the summer before their senior year. The Cromwells had always taken them on vacations during the summer.

John and Mike, Amy's dad, had grown apart after Mary's death. Of course, that's when John learned the truth about the world and became focused on hunting every evil thing until revenge was found. If it weren't for Mike, John would have dragged Sam and Dean on the road their entire lives – not even caring about a decent education.

The deal was that Mike and Kate (Amy's mom) would take the boys along with their vacations during the summer – which would usually be two weeks. But any other time – Spring Break, Winter Vacation, most of their summer break – would be spent in training or hunting.

Dean knew his dad made a tight schedule for a reason. He had to be prepared for the Big Bad. When it came to school; Dean could care less. Sam cared – and with Mike and Kate fighting for him – the boys were allowed at least ten months out of a year of a normal life.

He missed those vacations. They were never lame. Mike and Kate were like uncle and aunt to him. They never treated him, or Sam, like children or tag-alongs. Even when they were eighteen, the Cromwells had a way of almost treating them as adults – with boundaries, of course – but nonetheless, their relationship as friends surpassed that of a family's.

The Cromwells had been his escape family. And now…his only family was Sam.

Dean, sitting in the chair, spinning his cell phone on the table, looked over and saw Sam with his head leaning against the backboard of the bed. He was in a gaze too.

_God_, Dean thought, _I really miss her…_

He was tempted to pick up the phone – right then and there – and call. He wanted to apologize. Not exactly say sorry about what he had said – but _how_ he had said those things.

"I just want to protect you," Dean wished he could say. "I can't see you get hurt-"

The phone rang then. Dean picked up quickly, half-full of hope, but sighed and answered, "Yeah Ash…" Sam sat up in bed at this time. "Yeah," Dean nodded. "Thanks."

Dean hung up and motioned to Sam that something was being sent.

Sam put his laptop in between his legs as he opened his e-mail and nodded as he found something.

Several different documents had popped up – everything starting from a birth certificate to the death certificate.

"Anything helpful?" Dean asked, watching Sam read everything on the screen.

"It's a little early to say…" Sam sighed. "But…Yvonne was born in nineteen-sixty-three…twenty years early for the 'kids like me' to be born…"

"She was in her forties when she decided to have a kid?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded in agreement. "Guess she just wanted to wait." He read further. "Parents both deceased."

"Please tell me it wasn't a fire…"

"One died in an automobile accident, the other died of stroke."

"Anything else…"

"Everything looks normal…" Sam shrugged. "She did well in school…attended Flagler College…before then attended Mountain Bay High School…hmm-"

"What?" Dean asked, hoping to hear something of interest.

"Oh, it's nothing," Sam thought, "her parents sent her to an all girl's school in Massachusetts – The Laurel Academy. She did pretty well there too…"

"So, she was smart…" Dean rolled his eyes. "Great, just great…"

"It's just that…" Sam thought. "Laurel Academy sounds familiar."

"Is it a big school?"

"Well-known, if that's what you mean, yeah…" Sam continued to read. "In all her life she never got a speeding ticket or anything like that." He looked up at Dean. "Record's clean."

"Are you sure there's absolutely nothing in that file that can-"

"Wait…" Sam whispered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

Dean got up, not being able to take the excitement, and asked, "What is it?"

Sam looked wryly at Dean.

"Yvonne Donnelly was born in Lawrence, Kansas."

O.O.O.O.O.

Isabella walked into Amy's room, finding her sitting at her desk, going through dozens of beige folders in a large plastic container.

She was sitting on the floor – cross-legged – going through papers and various newspaper clippings. Amy wore jeans and a white sweater with her sleeves rolled up. It was obvious she had been at this for several hours.

Izzy was dressed and ready to go visit some old friends. Her black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. "Amy?" Isabella asked, finishing the buttons on a black blazer.

Looking up, Amy smirked and said, "Looks like you're ready to go and have some fun."

"Yeah…" Isabella sighed. She looked at the stack of papers and folders. "What is all that?"

Amy waved her hand over the stuff and explained, "More papers and newspaper clippings. For my file."

The file. Isabella knew what that was. There were dozens of folders and millions of papers focused on one subject: the Demon.

The first file started from November 1983: Mary Winchester's death. Since then, Amy gathered everything surrounding Mary's death – including copies of her birth certificate and even information on the schools she went to. The others files after that included the victims of the Demon. For example: Max Miller. Amy had information on those whom Dean and Sam had notified her about; she even had information on possible Demon occurrences.

"I'll organize later…" Amy stated. She stood up and rolled her sleeves back down. "I'm going out too. Going to go see my doctor contact."

"Why not ask Blake?" Isabella suggested. She knew who the doctor contact was. "He's a police officer, he can give you more info than a doctor can."

She grinned. "I know," Amy said. "But I want some medical info on Yvonne Donnelly. And he can help…"

"Okay…" Isabella crooned. She stood in Amy's doorway and said, "Tell the good doctor I said hello."

"Will do."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Amy walked through the beige halls of one of Evanston's newer hospitals. It was thirty-to-forty minutes away from her apartment. She was on the third floor – the pediatric hall – and passed by a familiar nurse who greeted her with a "Hey honey."

She passed by several patients' rooms before coming to the end of the hall.

The doctor's office – the title of the doctor was blocked by Amy's shadow – seemed to be occupied as she heard someone end a telephone conversation.

She took a deep breath and Amy reached for a bronze doorknob and entered into the office.

He sat there, surprised to see her, but his lips curved upward into a smile. His familiar short, brown hair seemed darker; his large blue eyes could be seen from across the room.

Amy closed the door behind her and greeted, "Hello, Michael."

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update ASAP.


	10. Ch 9 x Truth and Threats

**Chapter Nine – Truth and Threats**

"Why _Lawrence_?" Sam gritted through his teeth. His eyes traced over the birth certificate carefully. _It could be another trick, _he thought. Meg had done something similar back in Illinois. The victims (of the shadows) had been from Lawrence – but it had meant nothing. And here it was again. His own birth place. The target.

Dean paced the floor again – walking in circles seemed to be the only movement he could make. His hands fell limp to his side.

"It can't be that important," Dean decided. "Just because she was born there…" He looked back at Sam. "How long was she there?"

Sam's eyes darted back to the screen; he continued to read through other documents and replied, "Her family was only there for three years. Then they moved around a bit – Texas, Nevada, New York, then in Florida. Perry was born here."

The older Winchester sat down on the edge of his bed and said, "Contact Ash."

"Again?"

"Yes, Sammy," Dean ordered. "I want him to compile all of this information into a database – making any comparisons between-"

"_Everyone_, basically," Sam nodded. "I'll call him now."

O.O.O.O.O.

Doctor Michael Granger walked around his cherry wood desk to greet the young woman. He held his hand out awkwardly to shake hers, but found himself wrapping his arms around her back while hers went around his waist.

He smiled into her hair and when they pulled away, Michael touched her shoulder and said, "It's been a few weeks."

"I know, I'm sorry," Amy said softly. "I wish this visit wasn't just business…but I need your help."

"'Course," Michael nodded, sticking his hands into the pockets of his white coat. "Have a seat."

She sat down in a red chair with black cushions. Michael went back around to his desk and sat down. His hand went to his phone and he asked, "I can have a nurse bring coffee?"

"Oh, no." Amy smiled. "I'm fine."

Michael relaxed back in his seat and stared at Amy gently. "So, how are you?"

She cocked her head to the side. Amy dropped her shoulders and sighed: "'Been better."

The doctor asked, "I heard about your PhD, congrats _Dr._ Cromwell." He bowed his head playfully.

"Yes, finally…" Amy sighed. "And you? How's work been?"

"New hospitals get full quick," Michael laughed. "Things get busy."

Amy nodded in agreement.

The office grew silent for a moment. Michael bit his upper lip and narrowed his eyes at her. "I guess that look on your face is something Dean-and-Sam related."

"You're right," Amy whispered hoarsely. "They're in Florida…going after _it_…"

"Oh," Michael's breath grew heavy. "The…_demon_?"

"Yes."

"It's okay, Amy…" Michael nodded. "After the thing with the Egyptian curse…I'm pretty much open-minded to everything."

"Michael…" she began quickly. "I'm sorry…it's just…" She shook her head sadly. "I hate that I've involved you in this." She swallowed gently. "But you've been excellent help in providing me with information that I need. I never wanted you to be a part of this…I just…" She closed her eyes. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Amy…" Michael said soothingly. "I studied this stuff for myself. You filled in some of the missing blanks. It's okay how things turned out after all that…" He swallowed sadly. "You wanted to protect me…you didn't want me being a part of this because – really – I had no reason to be a part of this."

Amy turned away, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. "I only ended things to protect you…"

Michael laughed then, surprising Amy. "I know…" He chuckled more loudly. "And I'm still trying to understand why you told Dean and Sam _that I left you_."

Her grin turned sheepish. A blush had appeared on her cheek. "Sorry…" Amy laughed too. "I guess it was a girl thing. I couldn't tell Dean and Sam the truth…they would have been worried…I'm not sure why I lied – and why I made you sound like the bad guy – when really _I_ was the one who ended things."

"I get it, Amy, I do," Michael reassured. "But…" He laughed again. "England?" he laughed once more. "Why England?"

Amy shrugged. "I've always wanted to go…I thought it was a nice little pretend-breakup story."

"Well, once again," Michael sighed with a playful grin, "apology accepted. So, how can I help?"

She liked how things were, Amy realized. Things could never be awkward for the two of them. Even after breaking up, they kept in touch. Amy was lost in the reality that she – in fact – had been the one to end things. If she had told Dean and Sam the real reason… _The way things are now…would have happened much sooner…_She felt sick and sad – all at the same time – wanting really to leave the room and never come back. She had lied. Amy understood this. She had created an alternate version of Michael: a man who was terrified after the Natiskawa ordeal – _but he was really acceptable of the whole thing _– a man who got a job offer to England and took it immediately to escape the horrors of the real world – _someone who really understood the truth, who accepted it, and wasn't afraid _– a man who couldn't look at Amy the same way anymore – _a man who still loved her the same, maybe more, if it was possible…_

She laughed at herself for her brief mental pause. Amy reached into her pocket and pulled out a white note card; she handed the card to Michael who accepted it seriously.

"Yvonne Donnelly…" Michael said as he read the card. "Sure. I can get some stuff on her. How much do you want to know?"

"Everything," Amy replied simply. Michael raised a brow – Amy added: "I want everything you can get on her and her family – immediate and second cousins, if you can – and I know your sources can not only get medical files but places where medical info might have been sent. Schools, colleges, work…"

"All that jazz," Michael grinned. "Yeah, I get it. I can e-mail what I can tonight. I'd give it a day or two before you get the rest."

"Thanks," the woman added quickly. Amy stood up, shifting her weight, signaling that it was time to leave.

Michael stood up quite gentlemanly. He walked around his desk, again, and approached Amy.

"Amy…" he asked gently. "You're not getting too deep into this stuff, are you?" He was obviously worried – and Amy didn't need psychic powers for that.

She laughed and said, "Too deep? You're the one in the same plight to save the world."

"To do what I can, yes," Michael breathed softly. "It's just…" He shifted his weight too. "You're not this demon's target…" He moved closer to her. He whispered stiffly, "This _is_ Dean and Sam's fight…"

"Stop worrying," Amy pleaded gently. "Look…Michael…" She stared straight up into the set of large blue eyes. "You heard about Grammy and that's what led you to want to help but…" She turned away, taking a step back. "But I'm not getting in too deep." She tried smiling. "I'm fine."

She turned to the door swiftly, placing her hand on the knob; her body was halfway through the door when Michael called her name: "Aimes."

Her head peered back inside.

Michael took a deep breath and said, "The reason…for…_u_s ending…" He gave her a not-so-comforting look. "You did it to protect me…and I understand…and you need to understand…that…what's happening with Dean…" He stared at her sadly. "Dean's doing the same thing you did."

She found no words to reply with. Not even a helpless expression. She nodded her head. Not in agreement or understand…just a sign that she had heard Michael.

He watched her back turn and she left, closing the door behind her, watching her shadow disappear from the hall.

O.O.O.O.O.

"Ash is doing it now," Sam sighed as he rested his head back on the pillow. He rubbed his forehead and continued, "He's compiling everything into a database – compare and contrast sheet – on everyone and anyone who could be involved in all this-"

"Hell…" Dean finished. He was resting on his own bed; his head was deep into a cushioned pillow. He rubbed his scruffy chin and turned to stare at his brother. "It'll be okay, Sammy," Dean reassured, watching Sam sigh and close his eyes.

"Maybe…" Sam relaxed a bit more. "I just…_god_…" His hands were balled into fists. "First Duane…now this thing with Lawrence. There has to be some pattern."

"Otherwise we're dealing with a nasty case – the worst of 'em all – don't you wish Scooby and Shaggy were here?"

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Jokes," Sam snapped.

"Sorry Mr. Serious…" Dean muttered. "Just trying to laugh it up, remember?"

"We can laugh or we can be serious on this whole subject…" Sam reminded. "You're so-"

Sam's cell began to ring. He thought it was Ash and sighed annoyingly. His hand reached for the phone, stared at the caller-ID, and turned to Dean.

"What?" Dean mumbled.

"The number…" Sam whispered. "It's private."

Dean's eyes grew big as Sam answered the phone quickly, "Yes?"

"You're such a speedy pick-up," Duane's voice was heard laughing.

Sam's nose flared. Dean knew who it was.

"What do you want, _Duane_?" Sam growled.

A small sigh was heard from the other end of the line. "Like I said before Sammy Boy…" He chuckled. "It's not what I want…it's what he wants…"

"And what does he want?" Sam demanded, sitting up in bed now, looking as if he were ready to charge out the door.

"You" was the simple reply, but it sent chills down Sam's spine.

"Sorry," Sam snapped back, "not really into that sort of thing."

"I was offering a trade," Duane explained.

"You've already taken my dad," Sam hissed angrily. Dean was up and reaching his hand out for the phone. "My mother…my girlfriend…and innocent woman…so many others…how many more do you want?"

"Your death is not what we want…" Duane replied. "Your life is the whole purpose. You exist for a reason…"

"Sorry," Sam mocked, "my purpose has nothing to do with _yours_."

"Well…Sam Winchester…" Duane sighed disappointingly. "I thought we could make this easy…" He paused, obviously for effect, and said, "Looks like more people are going to die."

"What-"

"You thought killing Grammy was bad?" Duane laughed. "He enjoyed killing her. She was _fun_." He was laughing.

Actually laughing. It took all of Sam's strength to convince himself to not let his grip break the cell phone.

"Think of the others, Sam…and it's not just killing…it's the _taking away_ part that's fun…" Duane said simply. "_Ava_…" He said her name in such a way that Sam thought he had no right to even speak of her. Sam was about to protest and threaten Duane about her whereabouts, but the demon continued: "And your friends at the bar?" Duane laughed. "The girl…the daughter of the bartender…she's out now being some rogue hunter…we can find her easily…all your other bar friends…and…wait…we can't forget Amy…"

"Don't you-" Sam threatened-

"I don't think you realize the position we're in Sammy," Duane sighed. "Not even those you love…your friends…even people you _met_…we can find them all…kill them all…or just make some new additions to our family."

Sam's nose flared again; Dean was still reaching for the phone.

"I think it's time we have a nice little reunion…" Duane suggested slyly. "After all…we haven't seen each other since Rivergrove…" Duane giggled again. "And Sarge…"

Sam remembered Sarge – he was a good man in Rivergrove – Sam remembered Sarge left the town with Duane-

"And Sarge…" Duane repeated gently. "He was the last one I saw since that place…then again…it was my fault mostly…" Sam could almost envision the bastard smiling… "I chucked his body into a river…after cutting his throat…"

"I'm going to kill you…" Sam breathed deeply. His voice was so gentle, yet terrifying at the same time. "_I'll kill every last one of you_."

"I look forward to it…" Duane said simply. "But anyway…back to that reunion Sammy…I thought we'd pay a nice visit to that adorable Aurora's new home…"

Sam's eyes grew wide. It was too late to say anything. The call had ended.

"What what what?" Dean panicked, seeing the look on his brother's face.

"Dean, we have to go, NOW!"

O.O.O.O.O.


	11. Ch 10 x Burned

**Chapter Ten – Burned**

It wasn't long before the Impala squealed beside the road to the Hinson's home. Dean and Sam were basically out of the car before they realized there was smoke exiting through the crack of a window.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, ensuring his gun was safely in his pocket, and he and his brother ran up to the house.

They kicked the door down instantly and were greeted with a wave of fiery smoke. The fire alarm finally began to go off when Sam noticed the smoke was rising to the ceiling.

There were cries erupting from what seemed like in all directions.

"PERRY!" Sam yelled over the smoky fog. "PERRY!"

O.O.O.O.O.

Neighbors ran from their homes and in front of the Hinson's house. Several already called the fire department – watching flames burst through the opened front door.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam felt his body being pushed to the side. Dean had forced him to move – avoiding a burning bookcase by the front area of the room.

Looking around frantically, Sam immediately darted for the living room. Dean followed, gun in hand, and blocked his mouth with his hand.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam entered the living room, feeling flames all around him. He noted that there were no flames on the ceiling. The fire had mysteriously begun – encircling the house in hot flames.

There she was. Perry was crouched in the corner of the room – where no fire could be seen – holding a bundle of small blankets. Sam could hear Aurora's cries and Perry was screaming for help.

"PERRY!" Sam cried, he maneuvered around the center table – on fire – and approached the young woman carefully.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean was in the kitchen. He found Coy Hinson's unconscious body on the floor. The man was on his back – no injury seen – and Dean knelt down and roughly shook the man's shoulder.

His brown eyes opened slowly and Coy blinked several times. He was sweating terribly and his voice was hoarse. The first thing he said when he came to was, "Perry…"

"C'mon!" Dean demanded, he helped the man up.

He felt flames near his back and Dean moved quickly.

The entire house was filled with fire…

O.O.O.O.O.

Perry clutched a terrified infant in her arms as she found fresh air on her green lawn. She was now in the arms of a neighbor, crying, watching as Dean came out of her burning home with her weakened husband in his grasp.

Sam helped Dean carry the man to the grass, lying him down, and checking to make sure he was okay.

For a moment, Sam caught glance of Aurora – the baby, still crying, was obviously safe now.

He wasn't sure what to do next. But his legs were running fast and hard – back into the house.

Dean didn't cry out but watched, horrified, as his sibling disappeared into a set of new flames around the porch.

"SAM!" Dean called. He tried to run back in, but a neighbor had his hand on Dean's arm. Dean didn't fight hard to get loose – and he was now running back into the house.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam was running up the stairs. He heard a voice in his head, calling his name…_"Sam…Sam…"_ It sounded like Duane's. The voice was laughing at him and calling to him.

Dean came back into the house, escaping the danger of fire catching onto his arm. He ran up the stairs too, pulling the hammer back on his gun, and yelled, "SAM!" and readied himself for any sort of attack.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam found himself in a different room upstairs. The fire wasn't as bad as it was down stairs. He looked around, gun ready, and suddenly noticed a figure standing by the sunlit window…

He did not hesitate. He pulled the hammer back – aimed – and fired.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean arrived in time to see that the figure that Sam had shot at had disappeared.

"SAM!" Dean ordered, "WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE – NOW!"

"IT WAS HERE!" Sam shouted back. "I JUST SAW IT-"

"I KNOW!" Dean yelled as the flames began to grow larger.

Sam couldn't stop it now…

He watched the same figure – the demon – appear behind Dean.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, but found it was too late.

Dean turned around, aimed his gun, but found no use in the object. His body moved swiftly through the air as if someone were throwing a rock.

There was terror filling Sam now. He ran out of the room and into the fiery hallway – watching Dean's body forced to hit the wall and to then fall down the fiery steps.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted again, feeling his words had some power to save his brother. "DEAN! DEAN!"

His brother hit the bottom floor, hard, and it looked as if Dean was able to get up – for just a moment – but fell limp onto the floor.

Sam felt his lungs begging for air. He was choking and coughing. His brain was telling him to run down the stairs – "Jump them, if you can" – and go to Dean's aide. But his body wanted air. Badly. He choked and coughed and held his throat. Smoke was being inhaled through his nostrils. Sam felt his arms getting hotter and hotter. Burning…his skin was burning…

"Dean…" Sam forced to say aloud. He fell onto his knees and struggled to crawl across the floor. He came to the top step, struggling for breath once more, and forced himself to roll down the steps – the way Dean had.

His body crashed beside Dean's. Sam felt his hot, burning arms hurt now with the thick pain of the floor breaking his fall.

"Dean…" Sam coughed again, nudging his brother, and finding there was no movement coming from the still-alive body.

"Dean…" Sam whispered again…feeling his eyes grow heavy…feeling all the air being sucked out of him…his life, and the life of his brother, was being taken away…

Sam thought of his father. His mother. Grammy. Jessica…

His friends back at Stanford…Amy…Isabella…Sarah…that little boy Lucas…

So many different images popped into his head before he felt life fade away for just a moment…

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update soon…(Can't wait for tonight's episode "Born Under a Bad Sign")


	12. Ch 11 x You Can Choose

**Chapter Eleven – You Can Choose**

Sam opened his eyes. Fire no longer existed around him. There were trees. And a small stream passing by his bare feet. His ears could clearly pick up the sounds of water droplets hitting leaves and hitting the ground; he heard birds chirping and not only could he see the sun shining, it was as if he could actually _hear_ the sun. The rays were gentle against his face. The moment was telling him to "Be happy" and to "Enjoy it." Sam looked around, seeing himself alone, and moved through the pasture of perfect green grass and small yellow and white flowers. There was no indication of where he really was. No sign. No distinct land features. He could see mountains in the distance. If he didn't know better – which he did – he could view this place as the classical viewpoint of Switzerland in _The Sound of Music_. He wouldn't run around singing – that would be lame in Dean's eyes.

Dean. He could not be found. Yet the fear didn't explode within him like he thought. There was concern. But a small amount of it. He was at peace…

"Oh god…" Sam thought aloud. "I'm dead."

"Hardly," a voice laughed behind him.

He turned, recognizing the laugh immediately. Sam wanted to laugh, cry, and run to the old woman. He wanted to hug her and beg her to forgive him. He wanted to say "It was my fault" and "I'm sorry." The woman saw this, held her arms opened to him, and Sam took only a step forward to bend down and hug her. She wore a white sweater and jeans. She was barefoot too – blades of the perfect grass were sticking out in between her toes.

Jaclyn Forrester didn't have as many wrinkles. Even though Sam thought of her as "the old woman" in his head – the woman he was seeing was somewhere in her forties.

She was beautiful – brown hair and a large smile. Her grip was tight around Sam and when they let each other go, Sam sighed happily and shook his head in disbelief.

"You're not dead, Sam," Grammy laughed.

"What's happening?" he asked gently. He kept breathing deeply – he was afraid if he stopped breathing, he would be gone from this place…

Grammy smiled, touching his face, and whispered, "It seemed like you needed a break."

They began to walk. Sam felt the smooth earth beneath him. It was humming to him.

The two came further down to a hill – there were now bright purple flowers every where. The trees stood as tall as buildings. The sun wasn't as bright – but there was a clear blue sky in place of that light.

"What is this?" Sam whispered. He knew there wouldn't be an exact answer on "Where is this"…

She stuck her hands into her pack pockets and laughed as she stared around.

"This is either limbo for you – or my Heaven…" Grammy explained, adding a laugh, "or you're just having a mental delusion."

Sam looked around. It was like being part of a painting. "I don't understand-"

"It doesn't matter," she laughed again. "Knowing where you are isn't important. It's who you are…" She looked up at the tall man before her. Grammy grinned and said, "You're Sam Winchester."

"I know that."

"Of course you do…" Grammy sighed. She turned to look at the mountains before them. They were a few miles ahead, but Sam thought he could take a step forward, and they'd be there. The woman said, "You're Sam Winchester." She shook her head. "And knowing that will get you through this."

"How?" he inquired seriously. His peaceful thoughts went back to it all…_The Demon…the war…Dean…Dad…Mom…Jess…_

She said, "People can't do anything with their lives – truly – until they know who they are." Grammy explained, "If a doctor has doubts about his capabilities…you don't want him operating on you…if a pregnant woman is unsure about becoming a mother…if a man's not sure if he should tell the woman he loves the truth…" She shook her head sadly. "Not knowing who you are…can lead to negative consequences." Grammy reached up and touched his shoulder gently.

"But I know who I am…" Sam protested gently.

"You may think you do…" Grammy understood completely well. "But…you have doubts about what you can do. You're afraid of going to one side, when you know you truly belong on the other side. Doubts like that create restless spirits, don't you agree?"

"Yes."

"Sam…" Grammy whispered. "Despite this being a mirage…or if it's really _me_ that you're seeing…why here?" She looked around, motioning to the trees and flowers and blue sky. "You're here…either you created it…or you were meant to be here to learn something." Grammy shook her head. "Where do you want to be right now…?"

He was unsure of how to answer. Nothing made sense. He wanted to see Dean. _Was he okay? Was he hurt…_

The image changed. The ideal painting they had been standing in merged with a new picture.

The old house…

Sam and Grammy stood in the living room.

A younger John and Mary Winchester were cleaning up after dinner. Sam watched his mother, in jeans and a white blouse, standing by the sink. John maneuvered around the table, carrying two cups to her, and helped her dunk them into the soapy water.

John kissed the side of Mary's forehead.

Sam felt tears dripping down his face, along his chin, and onto the neckline of his shirt. It was strange seeing his father like this. Yes, there had been dreams…but Sam could almost reach out and touch them…

John whispered something into Mary's ear, she laughed, and threw some soap at him. Laughing, John kissed his wife again and went into the living room. Sam followed close behind while Grammy swiftly stepped forward.

In the living room sat a young four-year-old Dean. He was in blue bottoms and a gray shirt. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Dean pretended he could read the book _Great Expectations_. The novel was heavy in his lap, so he had a pillow placed beneath the book. Beside the couch was a small cradle.

Newborn Sammy…

Little Dean continued to read aloud. His story was about a prince who could slay dragons.

The image faded away again…but nothing new sprung to life.

Grammy was still there – slightly – but the world was turning white around Sam. He felt flashes of bright light all around him.

"Grammy?" Sam called, turning around, seeing the woman slowly behind to fade away.

"It's important to know Sam…" Grammy reminded, "of who you are…and what you can do…"

"I'm afraid of what I can do!" he called. His feet were glued to a floor that did not exist. He was disappearing from existence…Grammy was hard to see…

"It's not what you _can _do…" Grammy chuckled. Her laugh echoed around him. "It's what you _will_ do…"

"_SAM! SAM!" _a voice called in a distance. Sam saw no one else. His eyes were still on Grammy.

"Power isn't good or bad…black and white…" Grammy called, her face was the last thing Sam could see. "It's how you use it. It's your decision…what you will do…"

"_SAM!" _the invisible voice came again. _"SAM! CAN YOU HEAR ME!"_

"Grammy!" Sam cried out, holding his hand out to her. But Grammy was miles away…

"You decide who you are Psychic Boy!" her voice still remained. "You _can_ choose!"

His head felt like it was spinning. His chest hurt. Eyes grew foggy and Sam felt a wave of air crash through his mouth and nostrils. There was so much air, he was choking…

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam rolled onto his side. He felt his cheek graze against grass and dirt. Strands of his hair covered his eyes as he gasped desperately for air.

Dean, kneeling down to his brother's side, a bright red wound on his head, kept his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"SAM!" Dean cried, sighing happily, patting Sam on the back. "Welcome back…" He waited for Sam to gain breath once again.

Rolling onto his back again, Sam blinked several times, feeling the sun on his face. He looked desperately around, glad to see Dean, but obvious confused about where he was.

"It's okay man…" Dean soothed. He looked behind him, seeing the fire being controlled by the fire department.

Off to the side, Perry and Coy embraced one another, holding Aurora in between them, watching, relieved, as Sam was now back to life.

O.O.O.O.O.

"The department has not issued a clear statement on the cause of the fire," a woman said, holding a microphone close to her lips. The news was on – Sam and Dean – showered and bandaged up – sat on the edges of their beds. Dean had a large red bump on his forehead – caused by the falling down the stairs. Sam was told he had inhaled a lot of smoke, but would be fine.

The woman on the news explained, "Both residents of the home are unsure as well of how the fire started. Mr. Coy Hinson was in his kitchen, preparing dinner, when he suddenly passed out…Mrs. Perry Hinson, with a young infant, was trapped in a living room engulfed in flames." She shook her head and said happily, "We're happy to confirm that two unidentified men bravely entered the home and rescued the family."

Sam reached for the remote and turned the television off. He took a weak breath, looking over at Dean, who was rubbing the large bump on his head.

"Dude, you look like a unicorn…" Sam half-grinned.

Dean turned sideways and glared at Sam. "Yeah well you look like…" Dean studied Sam for a moment and finished lamely, "A dumbass."

Sam laughed weakly. He coughed a bit and rose to his feet.

The ocean-inspired hotel room felt like paradise. Being caught in one of the most dangerous fires they had faced – thus far – had been another strong realization that they were not unbreakable.

"You know it was stupid to go back in that house," Dean reminded, rubbing a sore shoulder.

Sam nodded. "I know…" He shook his head. "I thought Duane would be there…"

"Yeah, that son-of-a-bitch was there alright…" Dean mumbled. "He just left before we got there."

"I don't get it…he basically led us there…but a no-show?" Sam questioned. He turned to Dean seriously and said, "I shot at _the _Demon, Dean…" Dean nodded in agreement. "It wasn't Duane…it was _him_…"

"Maybe he just wants to psyche you out," Dean offered. "He's playing games."

Sam turned his back, looking out the window. The beach was in the distance.

Dean looked at Sam for a moment and asked, "What is it?" He wanted to stand, but felt too tired to do so. "What's wrong?"

"You promised me to you would kill me if I turned evil…" Sam said plainly. His hands were on his hips now as he watched the sky turn darker. "I just have to stay strong…and nothing bad will happen…"

The twenty-seven-year-old raised his eyebrows strangely. "Dude, what're you talkin' about?"

Sam turned around, trying to smile, and said, "I can choose."

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy came back to the apartment to find it empty. Although she loved and adored Isabella's company, she was glad – at least – to just have the place to herself.

She could have gone to her computer directly and check to see if Michael had sent anything, but instead she wanted to go out to the balcony.

And she did.

Her feet walked across the balcony, to the railing, and she watched her town prepare for nightfall.

It was cold out, and she loved it that way. Amy always liked the cold. It was better than being hot, in her opinion. And the freezing weather in Illinois was her favorite type of atmosphere. Whether there was snow or not, she loved the icy wind and the stiffness in the air.

She leaned across the railing, leaning on her elbows, and thought of Dean and Sam.

_Michael took a deep breath and said, "The reason…for…us ending…" He gave her a not-so-comforting look. "You did it to protect me…and I understand…and you need to understand…that…what's happening with Dean…" He stared at her sadly. "Dean's doing the same thing you did."_

Amy shook her head.

"_Dean's doing the same thing you did."_

If there was truth in that statement, Amy pleaded with God that it would never happen…

She had loved Michael. It wasn't hard to admit. He had been perfect for her. When they had been together, they could make friends with each other's clique easily. Their families adored them. And of course, he loved her; but Michael would always beat her at that game – he could love her more than she could ever love him. Amy had loved him enough to break his heart and to end things. Michael had _wanted _to get involved.

_The same way I wanted to get involved…_

She shook her head again.

What if Dean was doing the same thing she had done? Was he pushing her away…was their relationship on a brief hiatus…maybe the guys would return in a month or two, vacation a bit, take a break…and things would be okay…

_I choose to be a part of this…_Amy thought sadly. _I have more to do with this than Michael does…_

_But Michael's getting himself involved…and I can't stop it…_

_But I did stop our relationship…_

Her fear was no longer based on the romantic relationship she had with Dean. Although her feelings for him had been trapped inside long enough…she wanted to let it all out…she wanted to tell him how she felt…how she had always felt…

But their friendship was in danger. And with Sam's. Amy loved Sam like a brother…and she was losing him too…

_I may never see them again…_she forced herself to realize. Both Dean and Sam were trying to protect her…the way she had wanted to protect Michael…

"I choose this…" Amy whispered aloud; spoken words were her contract. She was a part of _their_ world.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: So "BUABS" was a GREAT episode. Sam was uber-scary as possessed-Sam. Dean protecting Sam and trying to cover for him was heart wrenching. When the scene came when possessed-Sam came to Bobby's door…I was literally yelling: "HA! Bobby SOOO knows you're POSSESSED! YOU'RE GOING TO GET YOUR ASS KICKED!"…so yes. And my favorite part was when Sam was back to normal and Dean punched him. It was one of those out-loud "HaHa" moments.

I hope you're all enjoying and I can't stress enough how IMPORTANT your **REVIEWS/COMMENTS** are.

**PLEASE, REVIEW/COMMENT**…they are essential to a writer's viewpoint on their story…and it helps them write better (and update faster).

Thanks again for all of your reviews – you're all amazing!...

IheartPadalecki: Glad you're enjoying! Keep reading and keep leaving me your kick-ass comments!

Lilly B.: Michael was always meant to come back…he does have a bigger purpose in the series than I let on in the first part. Thanks for the comment!

Ghostwriter: As always, thanks for the comments and keep reading!

PadFootCc: I liked your excitement about Michael. Thanks again and keep reading!

Spuffyshipper: As always, thanks for reading and for the comments!

EmSyd: I'm glad you're reading all the stories and thanks for all of your comments!

LilCrueLangel: Thanks for reading! And I hope you're enjoying!

Heavenstar3: I'm glad you're taking an interest on the status of Dean and Amy's relationship – and what's going on with her abilities. Keep reading! And keep leaving your awesome comments!

(Here: Lets make a goal! Fifteen reviews/comments for this one chapter!)


	13. Ch 12 x The Hunted

**Chapter Twelve – The Hunted**

Anything useful was gathered: guns, holy water, protection charms, knives, machetes, and a baseball bat that Dean had purchased a day earlier. The weapons were spread out across the two hotel beds as Dean finished putting on a blue jacket over a worn-out black T-shirt. His hair was wet from a previous shower – stray hairs were plastered on his forehead. He ran his fingers along his head, combing through his wet hair. Dean looked around, hearing Sam finish his turn in the shower, and checked the sharpness on one of his knives. His eyes studied each useful tool carefully. _"Precision," _his father had once said, _"focus, organization, being prepared, having the right tools, having a plan…"_ John would stare Dean in the eye, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, and finished, _"This is how we stay alive"…_ "You're right Dad," Dean said aloud, almost cutting his thumb open at the realization that _Yes, we have a sharp knife here_.

It was odd to think about his father like that. Dean had to admit there really wasn't a moment when he wasn't thinking about John. He remembered the techniques and moves he learned from his father – the hours and days and months spent to training and preparing himself for the Big Bad. After John's death, Dean's thoughts had mostly been about: _Why would he do that for me? _and _How? Did he really sell his soul…_ Dean stared sadly down at his hands. His _alive_ hands…moving…bones still shifting against one another… _Is he really in hell… _Dean Winchester turned around, grabbing a silver medallion he had found once in Mexico – meant to protect from evil spirits – and quickly stuck it into his back pocket. _No one's dying…_he assured himself. Dean knew that using too many charms would actually cancel each other out. But he was smart. He knew the amount and the types to use. John Winchester taught him best. _Even though it didn't save you…_Dean reminded himself. His father's teachings were a valuable knowledge – Dean knew this – and everything he had learned as a child had nothing to do with what John did to save him. Yes, John made a deal with a demon to save the life of his son. But why? Dean always knew his father loved him. Yes, there had been an inch of belief that Dean thought John cared more for Sam; but Dean knew truthfully John Winchester loved his boys just the same. But still…_Why, Dad?_ Did he think that Dean's life was more valuable than his?

_I wish you were here…_ He turned around and ensured there were charms for Sam to use; Dean made sure Sam had more protection. Dean realized he and Sam were prepared, ready, organized, focused…having an actual game plan was still floating up in the air somewhere. Duane would be impossible to find, Aurora was now safe (but for how long?) and the Demon was lingering around.

Sam came out of the shower in jeans and a wet towel slung over his bare shoulder. His hair was slightly dry and Sam looked almost-relaxed after the shower. He looked around, staring at all the weapons, and turned to his brother. Dean seemed to be caught in a gaze but focused back to reality when Sam cleared his throat.

"You think we're ready enough?" Sam tried laughing, smiling crookedly.

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. "We could use a grenade or two."

Sam nodded, laughing again, and reached for a gray T-shirt hanging off the edge of his bed. Finishing dressing, Sam tossed his towel on the floor and searched for his boots beside the table.

Now sitting on his bed, going through everything carefully, Dean sighed and notified Sam, "I called Ash." He looked awkwardly at the ceiling. "I asked him and Ellen to do whatever research they can…" He coughed. "I asked they do whatever they can to see if it's possible there's another weapon out there that can destroy the Demon…" Sam nodded in understanding. "There may not be another colt, but hey," Dean grinned, "maybe there's a holy bazooka out there – or even a Demon-killing-sling-shot."

"Let's hope," Sam added, sitting down at one of the chairs; he stared out the window, peering at a Monday-St. Augustine morning. The sky was orange with a few lines of red and peach. His thoughts lingered over the baby Aurora…over the Demon…

"What do we do now?" Sam asked, sighing, turning his attention back to his big brother.

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth and shrugged. "Maybe go back to the hospital," Dean suggested, "we can-"

There was a knocking on the door. A man, with an odd-gentle sounding voice, called, "Room service!"

Getting automatically up from the bed, Dean sighed happily and paced faster to the door.

"Good, I needed some breakfast," Dean laughed; he put his hand on the doorknob, turned, and looked back at Sam. "What did you order?"

There was a quizzical look on his face. Sam narrowed his eyes at the door and breathed softly, "I _didn't_ order room service."

The door was already opened slightly when Sam finished his sentence. Dean's eyes grew wide as he turned back to the door and felt the door knob almost knock the air out of him as he felt the cold metal hit his side.

He almost fell back – but caught himself – and Dean gazed at the man who entered the room.

Duane Tanner – jeans, red T-shirt, and a black jacket – entered with a sly grin on his face. He was followed closely by a woman – dressed in full black leather with blonde hair and blue eyes – who appeared to be in her young twenties.

There was no time to react. Dean and Sam – both on their feet – were staring at Duane and the woman – unsure of what to do.

"I thought we'd make finding each other _easier_," Duane smiled. He blinked – and his usual brown-hazel eyes flashed to pure black.

Dean was suddenly hurled into the far wall and Sam leapt for the nearest weapon. But as Dean came crashing down to the floor, unconscious, Sam felt his body fly across his bed and into the same wall. His head hit hard – but he felt no pain – but his last image was of Dean lying on the floor. Sam and Dean, both out like a light, were watched by the two possessed people with grins on their black-eyed faces.

O.O.O.O.O.

He wanted to yell "Son-of-a-bitch" as he awoke. Dean felt his back aching and the side of his face numb. He could taste blood in his mouth.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he realized he had no idea where he was. Dean first noticed he was in a large building – the ceiling was twenty-feet high – and the walls were gray and the floor was damp.

_An empty warehouse, _Dean figured out. _Except not-so-empty…_

Turning, Sam was tied to a chair – similar to Dean's – with his wrists and ankles ties – with ropes – and Sam was fully conscious, looking at his brother as he awoke.

"Nice of you to join us," a voice laughed. Dean turned, seeing Duane appear from his peripheral vision.

Dean barely glanced at Duane – his attention was mostly on Sam. He seemed okay, but he was physically hurt and trying his best not to show it.

"You know," Duane grinned, leaning down to Dean's face. "I never thought the 'room service' thing would get you." He shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Someone's getting a little rusty."

His nose flared and his cheeks were clenched tight. Dean cocked his head to the side and said, "You have gross demon-breath."

The demon, staring at him through black eyes, grinned and back-handed Dean's cheek – hard.

"Dean…" Sam called, watching a trickle of blood seep through a cut in Dean's lip.

"Ha," Dean laughed, "it's okay Sammy…" He looked back up at Duane. "It was a girly hit."

Duane seemed to enjoy this. It was still taking a moment to adjust to the fact that Duane Tanner – possibly an innocent – was possessed by one of the Demon's spawn.

Before hitting him again, the woman in black leather appeared with her hands on her hips. She stood in front of Sam, smiling at him, and demanded, "That's enough." Duane caught her eye – annoyed – and was about to press further but the woman said, "You can have some fun later." The woman winked at Sam. "Right now, we have to do what we were _ordered_ to do."

Duane turned to Dean, slapping his cheek hard, smiling, and took a step back.

Licking his lips, Duane motioned his hands to the woman and said, "This is Bianca." The woman did a curtsy. "She's one of my sisters…"

"What the _hell _do you want…" Sam hissed – his eyes were glaring at Duane.

Duane grinned again. "Doing _his_ bidding…" He smiled and winked. "Like a _good_ son should…" Duane turned to Dean and said, "You killed my brother. You remember him?" Duane looked at Sam and said, "He was hitting the hell out of you and your idiot sibling shot him in the head with the colt."

"Ah, right," Dean sighed, nodding his head. "I wasted him good." Dean looked up at Duane. "What? I thought I was doing you a favor…getting the whole family back together."

The smile turned scary. Dean was uncomfortable and Duane approached him again and whispered, "I _crawled_ out of _hell _with the simple _pleasure_ in knowing that I could _kill you soon_…" The demon got close to Dean's ear and said silently, "Your dad says hi."

"You mother-!" Dean shouted, fighting against his restrains, feeling the rope tight around his wrists and ankles. The wooden chair was nailed to the floor and Dean could barely get any movement out of it.

Duane was laughing again. His pleasure in Dean's suffering was obvious.

Bianca took a step forward to Sam. She knelt down – face to face – and touched Sam's cheek. He tried to move away from her touch – disgusted that her fingers were stroking his jaw – and cringed as her face grew so close to his; he could feel her breath on his neck.

"We really do have to chat, Sammy…" Bianca whispered in his ear. She kissed him beneath the earlobe. The blonde demon took a step back and said, "Our father has a great interest in you."

"What makes me so different than the others?" Sam demanded angrily. "What about Ava!" he shouted. "Where is she – if you hurt her-"

"Her whereabouts are of no concern to you," Duane explained. "After all, you're not quite one of us yet."

"And _she_ is?" Sam demanded.

Duane thought for a moment and said, "Let's not talk about Ava. We're here to talk about _you_…" He moved closer to Sam. "You see…others can be easily influenced…others are harder…for example, Andy…some of us are getting worried he won't be useful to us…the boy, Max…_wellll_…" Duane laughed. "The kid just didn't have the balls…Webber…" Duane sighed as if the name brought happy thoughts. "He was exceptional…Father was impressed…" Duane shook his head. "Unfortunately we've lost him…"

"We don't want to lose you Sammy…" Bianca whispered, leaning against Duane with her head on his shoulder. "After all, we can all be a _happy family_."

"_I'm_ his family," Dean growled.

Bianca looked at Dean and bit her lower lip. "Awe…poor Dean…" she crooned. "Sam's ours. You know that. Just let it go…"

"I still want to know what you want!" Sam ordered. He fought against his restrains and to no prevail could he escape.

"It's YOU!" Duane chuckled. "You're what we've always wanted…" He shook his head oddly. "I'm still not sure what makes you different than the others…you're just as weak minded – that is, when you're goody-goody-human guy – but you have the potential for such _evil_…" He sighed. "But Father has his reasons. I won't protest. We're here to discuss a few things…if things go bad…he'll show up…"

Duane looked at Dean. "Basically Sammy boy…" he grinned. "You have two choices…make things easier and give your brother a fighting chance…or we kill him now."

Sam realized the first option meant giving himself up.

Dean fought in his seat again. "You're not getting Sam – and you're not getting me!"

Bianca laughed along with Duane. "We're just trying to negotiate – stop getting so _jumpy_."

"I'm going to kill you – _both_ –" Dean threatened. "Especially _you_," his eyes were on Duane. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"You would have only put a hole in my head and killed Duane Tanner immediately," the demon responded. "You have no colt…no real power…and those pathetic charms couldn't protect you…" Duane put his hands into his pockets.

"Sam…" Bianca said gently, looking at the twenty-three-year-old who had fire burning in his eyes. His teeth were gritting against one another and his cheeks were clenched roughly. "We just want to talk…give yourself up…we swear – on demon's word – to give Dean a fighting chance…if not…we'll find you of no use – kill you – and kill Dean – and we can really make things _painful_…" Bianca shrugged. "Like the pain Jessica felt?" Sam scowled so much it looked as if no wrinkles appeared in his face. "You really want Dean to have that?" Bianca suggested. "And we can make it worse." She smiled evilly and said, "And hey, we might even spare some of your little friends…like at that bar…" She turned to Duane and continued, "And even…"

Duane pulled something from the inside of his jacket. It was a large color-printed photograph. He first showed it to Dean – whose eyes grew wide with fury – and then Duane revealed the image to Sam…

Amy was walking down the street through the small shops in Evanston. She was with Isabella – the two women were dressed as if they were having a girl's night out. They were laughing and carry shopping bags with them.

The date on the bottom of the photograph showed the picture had been taken three weeks ago…

Sam's eyes grew wide and he shouted: "STAY AWAY FROM THEM! THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS!"

"You see Sam!" Duane shouted, irritated, and ran to press his face close to Sam's. "Don't you get it – don't you see?" He shoved the picture of Amy and Isabella into Sam's face. "We can kill them – both _– slowly_ and _painfully_…and we can chop off their body parts and keep them alive long enough to watch the whole thing…"

Sam continued to fight in his chair – his veins were thick on his forehead and neck.

"Sam…" Duane threatened – but his voice was gently – "I don't think you get the big picture…" He smiled. "Either way – they'll die – whether you choose the life of a hunter, or the life as one of us…they will _all_ die…" He tilted his head. "See…I'm afraid most humans won't make it through this world once we've successfully carried out our plan…death can be painful…_torture_…we can bring hell above the surface…" The demon stared deep into Sam's eyes. "You can at least give them the fighting chance if you just give yourself up…" He nodded seriously. "You can give Amy _and_ Isabella a painless death – nice and quick – and they can go to Heaven and be with Mommy and Daddy and Grammy and anyone else…but if you make things difficult…they'll die a terrible, painful death…and _I'll_ enjoy every moment of it."

Duane moved the picture from Sam's face. The demon looked at the photograph, smiled, and cocked his head to the side. "They're _very_ pretty…" Duane crooned slyly. "And Amy…" Duane caught Dean's gaze – both furious and frightful. "Awe, Dean…" Duane thought mockingly. "I hope you told Amy how you felt before you separated…" His thick lips moved to the picture and Duane kissed the image of Amy. "I think I'll enjoy killing her more than anyone…"

He felt the ropes cut against his wrists. Dean felt blood squeeze through tiny cuts in his flesh. His teeth were gritting so tight together that Dean could chip or break a tooth.

"You _won't_ touch her…" Dean warned slowly. His eyes were set on Duane – his target.

There was a crash suddenly. The sound of glass breaking caught everyone off guard.

A window, apparently behind Dean and Sam, had its pieces fall onto the cold floor. There was a thud and the something was rolling toward them.

Sam looked down by his feet – watching a metal contraption – a metal ball, the size of a soccer ball – roll by his tied-feet and roll toward Duane and Bianca.

"What the hell?" Bianca laughed.

Duane studied the object for a moment – he did not kneel down or touch it – but his eyes went directly to the broken window.

Dean noticed a tiny, blinking red light on the metal sphere. Before anything else could be said – the object exploded.

Dean and Sam turned their faces away, afraid pieces of metal would slash across their face.

But Dean and Sam weren't the ones screaming in pain.

Sam looked back at Duane and Bianca. He realized what the substance had been that exploded out of the metal ball: water.

Holy water…

Duane had his hands on his face while Bianca was on the floor, grabbing her burning legs, screaming while the skin on her face seemed to be melting away.

Voices were heard: "Go now!" and "Get them!"

Dean and Sam couldn't turn – but suddenly several figures were seen by their shadows entering through the window.

A man, in his mid-twenties, in jeans and black leather, appeared beside Dean and Sam, carrying a bag of rock salt and a rifle.

Then, another man, near the same age, came to Sam's side and cut through the ropes with a blade.

Three more appeared and they were the ones to handle Duane and Bianca. Two tied up Duane and Bianca quickly with chains while the third took the bag of rock salt – from the first man who entered – and began to create a circle around the demons.

Dean felt his wrists loose and turned to the man who helped him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Friends-hunters," a woman's voice said behind them.

Dean and Sam recognized the young, Southern bell's voice.

Standing now and rubbing their wrists, Dean and Sam watched Jo, accompanied by another female, walked toward them.

Jo had her long blonde hair in a pony tail. She wore a brown leather jacket and jeans with holes in the thighs. She carried a rifle over her shoulder.

The other woman with her – who looked older – carried two guns by her side and had a duffel bag draped around her shoulder.

One of the five men stepped forward and ordered, "We have to get out of here. Their friends will show up soon."

Too many things were happening. Dean and Sam looked at one another – bewildered – and looked at Jo who was grinning at them.

"Jo?" Sam gasped.

The twenty-one-year-old smiled. "Missed me, Sam?"

Sam half-grinned and Dean asked, "What the hell is this?"

"Rescue mission," Jo explained. "Ash gave me a call two days ago. Told me the status. My mom doesn't know…these are some _new_ friends of mine."

The woman with Jo looked at Duane and Bianca who were still complaining and groaning in pain.

"We're leaving now," the woman called.

The five men, ensuring Duane and Bianca were trapped, walked back over to Dean and Sam and motioned for everyone to exit through the broken window.

Dean delayed his steps – his eyes were on Duane.

"Dean lets go!" Sam called; his leg was half-way out the broken window frame.

The photograph of Amy and Isabella was resting beneath the heel of Dean's boot. He looked down – seeing Amy's face – and immediately turned around to one of the men.

"You have a gun?" Dean barked.

"Yeh?" the man responded.

"Maybe something to start a fire?"

The man looked at the woman who had the duffel bag. "Actually, we do. A small thing of gasoline."

"Good…" Dean nodded. He swiftly grabbed a gun from the man's hand and stomped to the circle of salt.

Duane, leaning on his side, hand covering half his face, looked up and laughed as he saw the gun aimed at him.

"Dean!" Sam's voice spread throughout the warehouse.

Duane, looking up at Dean, chuckled. "You can't kill me with that, boy."

"I know," Dean snapped. He pulled the trigger.

There was a bullet hole in Duane's forehead. He flinched at first but smiled anyway. Duane laughed. There was no blood. The bullet was nudged into his forehead.

Dean then pointed the gun at Bianca and fired.

Two demons – two bullet holes in the head – and Dean turned back and ordered the men, "Where's that gasoline?"

Within minutes, Duane and Bianca were drenched from head to toe in gasoline.

Dean, near the salt-circle's edge, lit a match. The small flame flickered before Dean's small grin.

"I'll see you soon…" Duane hissed, blinking his eyes as the thick liquid dripped over his eyelids.

Still grinning, Dean clucked his tongue and said, "I guess it'll be a while."

O.O.O.O.O.

The entire warehouse was on the fire. Dean, Sam, Jo, and the others stood fifty feet back to watch the deserted building burn.

The warehouse had been in the middle of nowhere – near a beach – and it wouldn't be long before someone would see the rising smoke.

The Impala was parked close to them – along with two other SUVs.

Dean and Sam gazed at the fire and watched the gray and black smoke rise into the sky. The sun was out, and it was bright, and the air felt cool despite the smoky taste.

Duane and Bianca were gone – Dean had saved two innocent people a painful death – and he had helped send back two demons back to hell.

He hadn't flinched when Dean shot Duane and Bianca in the head. It was a surprise enough that they treated the gun shot like a pricked finger. The demons had actually smiled…

But they were gone now.

But there was no telling on when more would come…

"We just keep pissin' them off…" Sam noted as he turned and motioned they should leave.

The five men and the woman were waiting patiently by the SUVs.

Jo, standing close to Dean, looked at the man whose gaze was still lost on the warehouse.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please, REVIEWS/COMMENTS much appreciated. I won't be able to update until Friday-ish. And I can't wait for the episode "Tall Tales"!. Hey…maybe if I get A LOT of reviews…I can update by tomorrow…

Thanks again for all of the reviews and I hope to get more!

Happy Valentine's Day!

P.S. If you click the link on my penname and view my profile, I've updated character pictures – go take a look and please leave me a comment on what you think! (You have no idea how excited I was when I found the person who I imagined looked exactly like Amy…)

Please keep reading and leave me some COMMENTS!


	14. Ch 13 x BackUp

**Chapter Thirteen – Back-Up**

Both groups retreated to a large condo on the beach. One of the men, called, Stan, said the place was a friend of his and that he "wouldn't mind so much." The condo had four bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, and a kitchen. The place was a mess, mostly. Empty beer bottles were scattered across the counters – as well as different papers printed or handwritten about demonology. The basics, Dean noticed, of hunters. He sat in the corner of the living room in a comfy white sofa with aloe-green-pillows. Resting his sore side against the cushions, Dean leaned his head back and drank in what had just happened: He and Sam had been taken by the Demon's children. Jo and gang had arrived to save the day. Dean laughed at himself; he never felt more like a damsel in distress than in the passed afternoon. His eyes lingered outside the sliding doors – he could see the beige-colored sand and the gray-blue water. The sun was setting now…the day was passing by…

Sam walked across the living room, rubbing his now bandaged-wrists. Jo, following Sam with a First-Aid kit, motioned to the white case in her hand with the rest cross and asked Dean, "Need a patch up?"

He shook his head. He just wanted to relax. Wanted to be untouched. He wasn't sure if he wanted anyone talking to him.

Jo shrugged and put the First-Aid away.

The oldest of the other hunters was the woman – Michelle Indian, age: thirty. Surprisingly she was made leader of the group. The other five men were all in their twenties – Dean and Sam's age – and most had done hunting for at least six years. Jo was the smallest of the group – thin and frail – and she was definitely not as strong, or as wise, as Michelle.

None of them were related and most had found each other by luck. The five men: Stan, Murph, Vincent (called "Vin"), Aaron, and the fifth was merely called "Hawk"; they had been grouped together by Michelle. She was apparently the one to set the game plans and the men would carry out the missions. Michelle wasn't heavy-built, but she had muscle. She had introduced herself earlier and said, "I may look old – but hell – damned if I really am."

She knew hunting – she had done it since she was in her early teens.

Sam overhead Jo's summary of each person carefully. Dean couldn't care less. Jo explained she had met the group in Minnesota and was tagging along on their various jobs. This one in particular had been Jo's idea. Ash had fed her the information, without Ellen knowing, and asked her friends a favor to help the Winchesters out.

"We just wanted to keep an eye out," Jo had explained to Dean – someone who wasn't really paying attention. His eyes were still gazing out on the beach.

Jo sighed, obviously annoyed at Dean's lack of care, and turned to Sam.

"We don't want to get in the way and all," Jo offered, removing her leather jacket to reveal a white T-shirt with an odd black stain on the rim.

"I understand," Sam nodded. He tried smiling, giving Jo something to be happy about. She was obvious glad that – even though she hadn't exactly been a part of the mission – that Sam and Dean had been saved.

"Good," Dean said, finally joining the conversation. His eyes went weakly to Jo. "Good back-up. I'm sure. But we really need to handle this ourselves."

"Riiight," Jo laughed. "Because you were doing such a _bang-up_ job before."

Dean scowled at her and looked back out the glass.

Sam shook his head and looked at Jo. "Jo? What was with the holy-water-bomb?"

Jo laughed. "That's Vin's doing." She rolled her eyes. "The guy's pretty smart – could have been one of those engineer guys – but after a buddy gets killed by a Black Dog back in Montana, he's been into the hunting scene. He made those holy water bombs and he's been working on some other weapons."

Michelle, coming out from one of the bedrooms, joined the three in the living room. She wore a gray sweater and jeans and she had a tired, gentle face. Her red hair was pulled into a bun, which tightened the skin around her forehead.

She sat down on the opposite end on the couch where Dean rested.

"Guys are out getting some take-out," Michelle offered. She looked at Dean, then at Sam. "You're welcomed to join. We have room here if you wish to stay."

Sam nodded and smiled sweetly. "Thanks," he nodded his head. "But I think it'll be best if Dean and I head back to the hotel room."

"Confirmed," Michelle said in an authoritative manner. "We're here to help in any way we can."

Rubbing his sore shoulder, Dean looked at Jo and asked, "Does your mother know what you're doing?"

Jo suddenly stiffened. She had been so lively, even jumpy, like a little girl, before, but Dean suddenly brought her joy-of-freedom down.

She rolled her eyes and said, "Mom and I haven't spoken since we had the argument that sent me off…"

"You should give her a call," Dean suggested. "Trust me, she's been worried…"

"Yeah, maybe."

Dean rolled his eyes. He stood up from the couch, tearing his eyes away from the beach scene, and looked at Sam.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean sighed. "Let's get out of here. Rest up. Figure out what the hell to do next."

Sam nodded. The young hunter got up and was making his way to the door with Dean.

Jo turned and called, "Hey!" Both looked back at her. "What the hell?" she snapped. "We save your asses – and you just leave?" She put her hands angrily on her hips. "We could be a team," she offered gently, "we can work this out. End it."

"If that's the case, we'll give you a call," Dean muttered, "until then, just go to the beach or something." He stomped out the front door, not looking back, leaving Sam with an apologetic look on his face.

"Sorry," Sam grinned as he stepped out. "Dean's cranky – he hates being the one saved."

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam drove while Dean fussed with his cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked worriedly.

"Calling Amy," Dean answered roughly. "I gotta let her know she could be in danger."

"And say what?" Sam asked incredulously. "Avoid demons at all costs?"

"Whatever we can do…" Dean finished as he put the cell phone to his ear.

There were four rings before a woman picked up: "Hello?"

"Isabella…" Dean sighed. She sounded okay – not harmed in any way. Dean wouldn't admit that, back at the warehouse, he had imagined demon-possessed-people following Izzy and Amy, and then killing them the instant things went wrong. "Isabella," Dean repeated. "Good to hear your voice. Where's Amy?"

"Umm," Isabella sighed, "sorry Dean. Amy just walked out…is everything okay?" Her tone was filled with anxiety and worry.

"We're – umm – fine," Dean responded. "Izzy…" Dean directed. "You have to do something. Okay? But I don't want you to freak out…"

"That's a nice way to end a sentence."

"Izzy-"

"I was just saying-"

"Izzy!" Dean shouted, his voice wasn't angry or upset – just nervous. "I need you to go to the kitchen panty…"

"The pantry?" Isabella repeated.

Dean nodded. "Yes…go there…are you there yet?"

"Yes?"

"Okay," Dean sighed, "look on the floor, there should be these cardboard boxes with gray bags in them."

"Yes, I see them."

"Okay, it's rock salt…you _have_ to spread the salt all along the apartment – across entryways – everywhere where wall meets floor. Understand?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Izzy?"

"Umm…" Isabella laughed quietly. "You want me to spread salt in Amy's apartment?"

Dean's eyes grew wide in irritation. "She knows what it's for." He sighed. "Didn't you find it odd she just had large bags of salt in the pantry?"

"I never asked…I assumed it had something to do with her cooking…?" Isabella laughed. "I had no idea it was…" She paused – finally realizing that Dean wanted to speed up this whole, bizarre process. "Wait…what _is_ this for?" Isabella demanded angrily.

"Protection against demons and spirits…" Dean admitted. "Like I said…don't freak…just do as I say…and call us if there's anything weird is going on…"

"Oh god, Dean…" Isabella gasped. She was terrified now. "Is something coming after us-"

"No!" Dean assured loudly. "Just…" his voice became gentler. "Just…keep an eye out. Spread the rock salt. Make sure you especially do every entryway, understand?"

No response.

"Izzy?"

"Dean…" she whispered back. "O-okay…I get it…" She was scared and it was obvious.

"Nothing's coming after you…" Dean assured. "It's just a precaution."

"Okay, I'll do it now…" Isabella said quickly. "And if there's anything…out of the ordinary…we'll call you…"

"Good," Dean said. "Also…just in case…there's a back-up."

"Back-up?"

"Amy has two guns, two rifles, and five knives in her bedroom closet."

"Gee," she said sarcastically, "that'll help me sleep better at night."

"Just be careful," Dean warned gently. He thought for a moment, biting his lip, and said, "Especially keep an eye out for Amy, 'kay?"

"I know Dean." Isabella sighed sadly. "Bye, Dean."

The conversation was over and Dean stuck his cell phone back into his pocket.

The sky was back to the familiar orange and pink color as the Impala pulled into the parking lot of their hotel room.

O.O.O.O.O.

The hotel room was still a mess from their abduction. Dean cringed at the thought of him flying against the wall so hard.

Sam shook his head as he entered back into the hotel and said, "We need beer."

"Already on it," Dean called, kneeling down to the minifridge, and pulled out to brown-colored bottles.

Sam took his beer, taking a quick swig, and laughed. "Hell of a day…"

"Yup," was the slow response from his brother.

Sam's cell phone was going off in his pocket. The brothers each had the same look of terror on their face. _What if it was Isabella, or Amy? Was something coming after them-_

His hand flew to his cell phone, fumbled with it, and answered, "Yes?"

Dean waited. Sam was silent, listening to whoever was on the phone. Another demon call?

Sam nodded slowly and…smiled.

"Wow…that's great…yeah…yeah…we'll get on it…" Sam laughed. He listened for another minute or two…and hung up.

Dean rolled his eyes, frustrated. "Too many phone calls…what was that?"

Sam had a great grin on his face.

"What?" Dean questioned, looking as if Sam had removed fifty pounds from his shoulders.

Looking at Dean, and sighing in relief, Sam said, "I think we've found another way to kill the Demon…"

His chest tightened – in a good way – and Dean let out a breath. "What…"

Sam nodded. "Another colt. A back-up…"

Dean almost dropped his beer. He moved excitedly to Sam and cried, "Well where is it then?"

His grin grew wider. Sam let his arms fall freely down his sides and he said, "Right here in St. Augustine."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: I was just making a quick update. Nothing too exciting…'till the end.

I've updated my characters' pictures – so go check them out!

I'll update ASAP – most likely tomorrow.

Please REVIEW and leave COMMENTS.

Can't wait for the episode tonight!


	15. Ch 14 x Colt Number Two

**Chapter Fourteen – Colt Number 2**

Samuel Colt, the creator of the revolver – able to kill any supernatural thing - had a grandson.

Ash had provided a brief summary on the existence of the second colt. He notified Sam of a few old articles he was able to find online – but any decent information would be found in old archives.

The grandson, August Colt, had presumably changed his identity to Samson Jenkins. It was in the year 1916 – August Colt ("Samson Toiler") had left his home in Texas and fled to Florida. The reasons, to the day, are still unknown. Some created theories August was trying to avoid going to the war. At least, that was the _normal _reason. With his background information, some guessed he was running away from some kind of evil.

The first Colt had been made in 1835 – obviously, now, its whereabouts are unknown.

August Colt was believed to be in the same sort of profession as his grandfather, Samuel.

Samuel Colt passed his teachings down but found August was the one who took an interest in the _real _world.

An excellent craftsman and a terrific shooter, August Colt had the reputation of being the best man for the war. But he didn't want to go fight in the Great War. There was a different war he was fighting on his own…

He changed his name and was known to the people of St. Augustine as "SJ."

This is where the story changes and different versions have been passed around…

"SJ" created a second revolver with the same amount of power that first Colt had. The purpose, of course, was to kill every demonic-supernatural being.

And instead of thirteen bullets, there were forty.

The second revolver was expected to have more power, and with forty bullets, could do more damage.

It is unknown how many bullets August Colt might have used.

The information found about August Colt and the second revolver, still called the Colt, could only be found as truth since it was found from the journals of Samuel Colt. The papers were first passed through family but were somehow found in the hands of a good hunter.

Samson Jenkins died in 1932. His wish was to buried next outside of a cemetery at an unmarked grave. His wishes included wanting to be buried with the colt underneath his right arm. On the inside of his coffin bed, he had engraved: _"This weapon is meant for a hunter, true and good, and who will send the Damned back to Hell."_

Townspeople also found it odd that Samson Jenkins wanted to be buried with several different charms and symbols carved into his own coffin. SJ even created his own coffin – so, despite what the townspeople did – he must have done more for his own funeral than anyone else did.

There is no record at what cemetery he was buried next to. In St. Augustine, in the area where Samuel Jenkins presumably lived, there are over thirty cemeteries – most of them filled with dead soldiers.

His grave site, with an unmarked grave, is known to have powerful defenses against demons. Thus why August Colt wanted the revolver to be buried with him.

O.O.O.O.O.

"…and what makes things interesting…" Sam sighed as he went through the documents carefully.

"-Is that we don't know where the grave is," Dean snapped.

"That…" Sam shook his head and he frowned. "But there was a big tropical storm here on August 21, 1936…" He bit his lip and looked at Dean worriedly. "Some graves have been known to have sunk deeper into ground…"

Dean looked angrily up at the ceiling of the hotel room. He put his hands on his waist as he paced the carpet. "Well…that makes things interesting…"

"Dean…" Sam realized. "What if that's why we're here…" Dean gave him a bewildered look. "What if the Demon knows of the second Colt? What if it knew it couldn't find it – or go near it – so it led us here…wanting _us_ to find it…and then try and find some way of getting it away from us…"

Dean tilted his head, unsure, and took in a deep breath. "Possible…" Dean thought. "It has seemed like the Demon's getting awful anxious about all this crap…maybe it is worried of another threat…and it's going to great lengths to have the thing found and destroyed." He looked up, staring at Sam, still unsure. "But it's still a pretty big leap…even for the Demon…" He looked at his hands sadly. "Then that means Yvonne Donnelly died for nothing…and maybe her being born in Lawrence means nothing…and that baby-"

"Aurora gets to grow up without her real parents…" Sam sighed in the same melancholy tone. He stood up, closing the laptop, and said, "We can go the library. Research. Find the second Colt and kill the damned thing…"

"I don't know, Sammy…" Dean hollered as he turned to the window. "It seems unreal there's actually something else…"

"It's worth checking out…" Sam said excitedly. He began to stuff his laptop into a black bag and was motioning Dean to grab the car keys.

Without another thought, Sam exited the hotel room in a hurry. Dean followed, still hoping, praying, that there might be something to look forward to.

O.O.O.O.O.

Isabella, in Amy's room, was ensuring the rock salt she had placed on the windowsill was thick enough and "demon proof." She had laughed at herself earlier when she had begun to "demon proof" the apartment.

That was until she researched and learned indefinitely that rock salt protected against malevolent spirits and demons. Isabella, terrified, had also learned a helpful note that rock salt can protect especially against a person possessed by a demon; but if an actual demon tried to attack, it depended on the type of demon and the power it had…and if it was strong enough to break through the protective barrier…

She knew after Amy had been given Daryl Greene's address book with contacts of Herb Sellers and Charms people, she had put several different charms by the window and such to protect the place from angry spirits. Amy had even carved odd symbols in the doorframes and even placed these "special" mats underneath their beds.

Here she was. She was demon-proofing the house.

And she was terrified.

She didn't know Dean that well, but she had learned to recognize when Dean was trying to cover something up. He was worried. Just as terrified as Isabella was now.

Isabella had even put rock salt in all the little cracks she could find.

"Hope this works…" she said aloud. She thought about praying, wondering if that would work, when she heard the door to the apartment opened.

Amy was on her cell phone, talking to someone quietly, and Isabella quickly wrapped up the empty bag of rock salt and tossed it underneath Amy's bed. She wiped her sweaty forehead and Isabella went out into the hallway.

O.O.O.O.O.

St. Augustine had a Memorial Library. The library itself contained mostly books on the history of the city. Most books were written about urban legends and other ghost stories.

Dean and Sam were in the far back, in the non-fiction history section, sitting at a large blue table. They had dozens of books and old newspapers set before them.

Sam was on his cell phone quietly, with Ash, as he flipped through pages of an old newspaper.

An old woman in a gray vest and white pants, came to Dean's left side, and dropped off a few more old-orange-colored newspapers.

The old woman with white hair and green eyes grinned and said, "Here you go sir. I hope this helps with your research."

"Ah, thank you," Dean had a large grin on his face, which faded away when he realized the massive amount of paper sitting in his lap.

"I'll leave you boys be," the woman grinned. "Would you like a cookie?"

The grin reappeared on Dean's face. "That would be awful nice of you."

She smiled and nodded. "I'll bring one for your friend too…" The old lady walked away and Dean turned back to his papers.

His eyes widened at one moment and he grumbled, "I don't think these papers are going to help find out where August Colt was buried."

Sam forced himself to go through more pages as he hung up with Ash. "I don't get it…" Sam groaned. "Why would he not at least tell his father, or _grandfather,_ where he was buried…someone would eventually _desperately_ need the Colt…"

"Like us."

The twenty-three-year-old nodded. He dropped another newspaper on the table and said, "The obituaries haven't even stated a death of a Samson Jenkins."

"Maybe he had a different name," Dean thought. "Hunters do that a lot – we know – we fake names constantly…"

"Maybe…none of this fits…"

"It never does. We always have to go through hell before getting down to it."

"But another fake name…" Sam thought. "Just try to imagine…you've created a weapon that can kill any _supernatural_ thing…with forty bullets…and you're probably on the run from demons…and you want to be buried with the Colt?" Sam shook his head. "If it were me…I'd leave it to someone who I know would eventually give it to someone who would need it."

"Maybe August Colt thought about something else…" Dean offered. "Maybe it was about protecting the Colt…maybe he knew something was coming after him…what was the cause of death?"

Sam looked back at the documents he had printed off that Ash had sent him. He read: "No exact cause."

"Dang…" Dean sighed. "So, let's put ourselves in his shoes…why bury the Colt with you? And why would you want to be buried _outside_ of a cemetery…"

"There are a lot of cemeteries with dead soldiers…" Sam thought. "Maybe he felt disgraced…shamed…didn't feel he should be buried with the men who died in war…when he ran away…"

"'Sure he had a good reason," Dean bobbed his head. "He was fighting demons."

The old lady returned with two paper plates with two large chocolate-chip cookies on them. She gave Sam and Dean a wink and walked away. When she was out of sight, Dean quickly leaned over, grabbed his cookie, and munched on the warm treat.

Sam laughed and shook his head at his brother.

His cell phone went off again. Sam answered, seeing it was Ash, and immediately said, "Hey."

There was another pause. Sam nodded and he went through the documents on his computer. As always Dean waited patiently for Sam to explain the brand new news – hopefully brand new _helpful_ news.

"Yeah…I'm looking at them now…" Sam nodded as he started at the computer screen meticulously. His eyes grew big – the sign that something helpful had popped up – and Sam nodded and finished, "Thanks Ash."

"What?" Dean asked instantly.

Sam looked up at Dean for a moment then back at the screen. "In 1932, the same year Samson Jenkins died…obviously, other people died, but there was an actual obituary in the paper…the name wasn't 'Samson Jenkins'…it was Tom Saul Cole…"

"Okaaay…" Dean giggled. "Great info."

Sam's smile grew bigger as he grabbed a sheet of paper and marker and wrote the name down in large, bold letters:

**TOM SAUL COLE**

Grin growing larger, Sam showed the name on the paper to Dean, then wrote something below it.

Finishing what he was writing beneath the name, Sam lifted up the paper and said, "Rearrange the letters…"

Dean almost jumped out of his seat when he looked at the paper…

**SAMUEL COLT**

There was a minute before someone said anything. Both were studying the sheet of papers, mentally rearranging the letters, and Dean slapped his thigh happily and said, "Please tell me there's a place of burial."

"No," Sam said – still in a relieved, giddy mood. "But there was a service at a church…"

"And I'm sure the church kept logs…" Dean nodded slowly.

Sam brought the sheet of paper to his lips and kissed it. He slammed his hand on the table and said, "It'll only take me a minute to get an address…"

While Sam went through his computer again to find an address, Dean reached over and looked down at the sheet of paper.

**TOM SAUL COLE**

**SAMUEL COLT**

"Good going…" Dean admired mentally. The grin on his face seemed to be stuck there.

For the first time in a long time, Dean felt that things could actually turn out okay…

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter – THANKS FOR ALL OF THE REVIEWS – you're all amazing and I can't wait to read more of your FEEDBACK/REVIEWS/COMMENTS.

So… "TALL TALES" was HILARIOUS. I loved seeing the guys give their different points of view. Especially how Dean thinks of Sam talking….HAHAHAHA….if you haven't watched the episode, I highly recommend you do.

Thanks for all the reviews and I can't wait to read more!


	16. Ch 15 x The Search

A/N: Today, not only will you be receiving an update in "Dreadful Journey," you will be getting an exclusive interview with the writer of the _Meant To Be _series. After the interview – you may continue reading **Chapter Fifteen**.

(Thought this would be fun and informative…hehe)

o.o.o.o.o.

**Bob, an imaginary character, interviewed Slayer Isis in regards to her _Meant To Be_ series.**

Bob: Well, lets get right to it then. Can you give us your real name, 'Slayer Isis'?

Me: No. But I'll give you my initials: LM.

Bob: Okay, the obvious question: How big of a _Supernatural_ fan are you?

Me: I've watched the show since the first episode – have never missed an episode – and I definitely have a _Supernatural_ website saved in my favorites. And when I deal with the hiatus on the show, I write.

Bob: Where did the inspiration come from to write your "series"?

Me: I love the show and the way its being done. I'm definitely not writing my own "series" because I WISH "Amy" or the other characters were in it. To be honest, I was talking with some friends – who are _Supernatural_ fans – and they were laughing about how cool it would be to be _in_ the show. Yes, most of them were female so they were obviously: "Oh, Jared and Jensen are so cute" etc. (Not that I disagree). This isn't one of those wish-insert fics where I imagine I'm one of the characters. So my friends just gave me the inspiration to write a different alternate world of _Supernatural._ The characters I make up are based on people I know – friends mostly.

Bob: Like "Amy," for example?

Me: She's based off a friend of mine – named Laura – who is a _Supernatural_ fan. She is a student at UCLA and she's majoring in art.

Bob: And it's great that she's not 'Mary Sue'!

Me: Yes. That part was hard to do. Creating a character can be difficult because you try to avoid the 'Mary Sue' possibility. She is the way she is for a _reason_…

Bob: A lot of people either LOVE fanfics where the main characters (like "Dean" or "Sam") have romantic relationships with OCs…or HATE them…so why have the "Dean" and "Amy" romance?

Me: Before any episode showing Dean's other side when it comes to relationships had been made, I thought Dean was a great guy – a great character – and that he should have somebody. Plus, I'm a sucker for romantics.

Bob: Will "Sam" have a romantic interest? Like… "Isabella" for example?

Me: (Laughs) Not sure. I don't want my stories to get too 'Mary Sue' and I want to keep the focus on my stories to be the same as the show _Supernatural's_. My "series" is mirroring the actual show – so I want to keep things basic and not too-out-of-control. My original idea was to have Sam and Izzy together…but then I saw the episode "Provenance" and we saw "Sara Blake"…so who knows? Depends on how that changes…if the show alludes to a possible Sam-Sara pairing…then I might do the same…but we'll see…I am full of surprises.

Bob: Do you have an outline on how each "part" of your "series" is going to go?

Me: Not exactly. I have a list of story lines and I know around which part I want to use them…I have small story lines…big ones…sometimes people give me an idea and I go with that. "Time Loop" was _SpuffyShipper_'s idea.

Bob: Do you know how the series will end?

Me: Yes. There'll be no changes to that. I know most in my situation usually know the beginning and end…it's the middle that's fun to make up. And I do it a lot…when I'm writing a story…I have a basic outline…but I add a lot of stuff in there that I never thought I'd use. For example, Michael's return was completely random. And adding him back sort of gives me more to work with…but yes, anyway – back to the point – I know how the series will end – there'll be no changes.

Bob: Any hints?

Me: (Smiles) Just keep reading.

Bob: How long will you be writing? In other words: How many parts will there be to your series?

Me: I definitely won't be writing to the show's end. I'm not sure exactly. Like I said, I know the beginning and end of the series…but the middle has been fun. It just depends on how tired my fingers get – or how busy. This won't be a SHORT series, I can say.

Bob: The show right now is dealing with the big "Demon" problem. Will you incorporate that into the series?

Me: Of course. Without the Demon-issue, there would be no show. Then there would be no "series." I don't want the "yellow-eyed Demon" to be the MAJOR focus, though. That part won't be the BIG FINISH. You'll just have to wait, read, and see…

Bob: After the end of your series, will you write more _Supernatural_ fanfics?

Me: Hope so. Although it might be odd to write a completely different story without my characters: "Amy," "Isabella," etc.

Bob: Right now, you're writing "Dreadful Journey." This has been a pretty serious fic and there's a lot of emotional drama right now. Will this story have a happy ending?

Me: It was important to have a story to focus on the heartache after everything that's happened. I'm not sure how to describe the ending…but just read! And you'll find out.

Bob: Can you give us any details of upcoming parts coming in the series?

Me: I really loved "Time Loop." That has probably been my favorite part so far. I liked the use of the time loop AND I want to bring a Temptress back into the picture (won't use a time loop and a Temptress at the same time)…I was thinking of a werewolf story – but _Supernatural _has already done one…which will be aired in near future (March?) and I'll wait to see how that goes…I'll definitely bring in the psychics "The Children like Sam" and there'll obviously be more Demon appearances…I also had an idea of something fairy tale-related.

Bob: C'mon tell us…Dean and Amy…sitting in a tree…basically…WILL THEY SAY "I LOVE YOU"!?

Me: Just keep reading (smiles)

Bob: Is there anything you want readers to know?

Me: To just be patient and to keep sending me their feedback. I want them to know they're very helpful and their comments really put me in a better mood when I read…so you never know…one review per chapter…Amy might fall in a well or something…or marry Michael! (Laughs). Just kidding.

Bob: Well, thank you for your time, and I hope to interview you again.

Me: Thanks. And…if readers want another interview with their own personal questions…submit them in the "Submit Review" thingy. Thanks again…

Now, enjoy Chapter Fifteen!

**o.o.o.o.o.**

**Chapter Fifteen – The Search**

The Impala sped down the street with Metallica blaring out the windows. While people, carrying various shopping bags after a busy evening in the outlet, shook their heads at the loud music, a celebration was being held within the black car as it disappeared around the corner.

Dean slapped his hand against the steering wheel and shook his head. "I'll be damned. We have another Colt."

"Not yet," Sam reminded. "We just need to get to this church…"

A happy noise erupted from Dean's throat. A great, bellowing-sort-of laugh.

_This was it…they would find the Colt…kill the Demon…relax…_

_Amy…_

"The moment we get the Colt, we're hunting," Dean said officially; the same grin was painted on his face.

"_If_ it's at the church…" Sam said seriously, trying to hide the joy in the curve of his smile. "The Demon could have easily figured out the anagram. It was almost obvious if you were looking right…"

"Still…" Dean thought. "The Demon _must_ have known about it. That's why it led us here…why it didn't kill us immediately…I mean, that whole monologue back at the warehouse was pathetic…" Dean shook his head. "It killed Yvonne Donnelly to get us here…and we sure as well ain't gonna let that bastard get a hold of that gun…"

Sam looked at Dean strangely. He realized where all the rage before – and the joy now – was coming from.

"Demons can't step foot onto hollowed ground...that includes churches…" Dean reminded. "And even if a powerful demon could get in…their power is limited…they have to rely on strength…that's why the son-of-a-bitch led us here…it wants to snatch the gun away from us…again…"

"Dean," Sam thought seriously. "So how do we go about getting the Colt without the Demon or its minions from following…" He shook his head, staring out the window depressingly. "It could know _right_ now…know where it's buried…"

"Doesn't matter what it knows, Sammy…" Dean smiled, turning to Sam for a moment, and then went back to gluing his eyes on the road.

"Take a right…" Sam instructed. "Yeah…okay…I know."

"The only thing that matters is that the Demon can't get its hands on it…August Colt would be smart enough to put some super-protective-charms on the Colt…so that's the Demon's plans…wait for us to get it…then try and get it…"

"So what's _our_ plan?" Sam thought. "How do we get the gun and ensure that we get to keep it this time…"

Dean shrugged. A plan didn't matter to him. It was the very fact they knew the existence of the second Colt.

"We'll figure it out later…" Dean laughed, parking the car randomly across the street from a tall white chapel. He looked out, staring at a dark brown cross at the point on the roof. "We're here."

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam waited patiently in the car. He was busily working on his laptop – saving all the documents about August Colt's revolver in password-protected files. No demon – or human – would ever get their hands on the information. Ash, back at the Roadhouse, was informed to do the same thing. It was a piece of cake for him; Sam realized he was having a tougher time to ensure all the locks. He couldn't help but be grateful too. He wanted to thank God. He wanted to thank August Colt. He wanted to thank Grammy. He wanted to thank nature and everything else…This was possibly _it_. They were back to it. They finally had a way to kill the Demon…they weren't powerless anymore…

His satisfied grin nearly faded away when he noticed Dean walking out of the church empty-handed. At least: no revolver.

Dean swiftly opened the car door and sat inside.

"Well?" Sam beckoned.

The older brother sighed as he turned on the ignition. "Pastor Newman had logs of the day that a _Tom Saul Cole_ was buried…but there was no info on where the guy was buried."

"What?" Sam breathed.

"And get this," Dean tapped the steering wheel. "No one was allowed to attend the service." Sam lifted a confused eyebrow. Dean nodded. "The instructions were that _Tom Saul Cole_ would have the whole religious ceremony with just the reverend…and a priest."

"Priest?" Sam repeated.

Dean nodded again. "Back then…it was a Reverend Hannigan and a Father Taft." Dean looked at Sam. "They were the only two present during the ceremony."

"Okay-"

"AND…" Dean jumped in again. It was obvious he was going for dramatic effect. "Father Taft…was murdered about a year after attending Tom Saul Cole's service…and you know _why_ he was murdered?"

"No Dean," Sam said in a monotone way, "I don't."

"Well…" Dean grinned. "It appeared Father Taft was accused of _witch craft_."

Sam lifted an interested eyebrow.

"He was accused of using witch craft on the _dead_…" Dean nodded. "And…" he grinned again. "People used to claim that Father Taft believed in the existence of dark spirits…and demons."

"Okay Dean," Sam snapped. "Get to the point."

Dean nodded. "Ok-ok, cranky pants," he shrugged. "I was just getting to it…the reverend was spared-"

"AND?" Sam asked annoyingly.

The twenty-seven-year-old hunter was pleased with himself. "The reverend lived the rest of his days here…even his great-great-great-great-whatever grandchildren are still here…"

O.O.O.O.O.

They drove to the house of a Rachel Benson. She was thirty-nine-years-old, a widow, with two teenagers. She had lived in St. Augustine her whole life – along with her relatives before her.

She lived in a house near the beach – about forty minutes away from where Dean and Sam had actually started looking.

The place was painted a peach color with blue shutters. Plastic flamingos and penguins were spread out across the lawn. There was an old tree beside the house, its roots were spreading nearly halfway across the yard.

Dean, staring at the house oddly, felt Sam's elbow nudge into his side and the brothers walked to the house on a winding pathway of old stones.

He was halfway near the door when Dean felt Sam's hand strongly grab his shoulder.

"Dude-" Dean protested, but was hushed immediately when Sam's focus was back to the pathway of stones.

"Dean, look…" Sam pointed.

Several of the old stones beneath their feet had carvings in them. There had to be at least forty or fifty stones with the same images engraved.

Kneeling down to pick up a stone, Sam blew on it and wiped away some grass that had been blown over it.

It was then that Sam realized that stones were not merely rocks.

They were made of pure silver.

The picture depicted a bird, fish, serpent, and a spiral.

"_Cimaruta_…" Sam realized quietly.

"What?" Dean asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "'Chee-Mah-Roo-Tah'…" He looked up at Dean. "Also known as _Cima di Ruta…Jettatura…Mallocchio…Spring of Rue_…" Sam put the rock back into its place in the pathway. He wiped his hands and stood back up. "And…most notably known as _Witch's Charm_." Dean raised an interested eyebrow and nodded his head. Sam said, "It's a very, very, _very_ cold custom…it's a protection charm…" He pointed to the stones. "They're made of silver…and were sometimes put on the chests of newborns to protect them…" Sam cleaned his hands again on his pants and said, "It usually involves the images of a bird, fish, serpent, and a spiral. There are other symbols…roses…swords…" Sam looked around the yard again. His eyes darted to the tree. Sam pointed and said, "Nature was thought to provide the power…trees, especially…the power came from within its branches."

"Well…" Dean yawned. "That was very helpful. Can we please go knock on the door now?"

O.O.O.O.O.

Rachel Benson was home alone and had no issue allowing two unfamiliar men entry into her house.

She was a very tall and thin woman. She had dark black hair and dark eyes – she appeared to be of Italian nationality. Dean and Sam hadn't even had a chance to come up with a fake reason on why they were there.

Cheerfully letting them in, Rachel showed them to a living room where – no surprise – Dean and Sam found more Cimaruta engraved in different silver pieces – an old clock, on the side of a table, and on a picture frame.

"Would you like something to drink?" Rachel asked. Her voice was quiet, gentle, but far away. Almost like an echo.

"No ma'am, we're fine," Sam smiled. "I hope it's okay we're here…"

"Of course it is…" Rachel rubbed her hands together, staring at the men. She wore a regular blue T-shirt and jeans. She didn't look like to be someone who had two teenagers.

Suddenly – out of the blue – Rachel coughed, "Cristo."

Dean's eyes widened. Sam nearly took a step back.

"Hey lady," Dean fought, "we're not demons."

"Calm down," Rachel laughed. She clapped her hands together excitedly. "I knew it!" She shook her head and laughed. "No, you're not demons…you're hunters, are you?"

"Wait…" Sam stammered. "You…know…"

"Of course," Rachel laughed. She motioned Dean and Sam to have a seat on her red sofa. They sat down, still surprised, but relaxed too.

"I saw you out the window," Rachel said, sitting down on a wooden chair. She pointed to the silver clock upon a white mantelpiece above the fireplace. Her eyes were looking at the Cimaruta. "I overhead the tall one…you know about the Cimaruta…I knew who you were immediately – well, not EXACTLY – but still…"

"So…" Dean gasped. His breathing had returned to normal. "You…you know why we're here?"

Rachel bobbed her head. It was as if she were in the presence of celebrities.

"You're looking for the _Colt_…" Rachel gasped. She seemed just as happy as Dean and Sam were.

Even the Winchesters were happy.

Rachel shook her head suddenly and said, "Just so you know, it's not here…" She bit her lip. "But I'm supposed to help you on your way."

"Help?" Sam asked.

The woman nodded. "It's a bit of a scavenger hunt. I'm not even sure where the exact location is…" She shook her head happily again. "And here I thought…I would never get the chance…"

"The chance?" Dean questioned.

Rachel explained, "The secret's been in my family for four generations. We're supposed to pass the secret on…until someone comes searching for the weapon…I thought I would eventually have to tell my own kids…and they would carry on the tradition…" She clapped her hands together. "And finally…_I_ get to pass it on!"

Dean laughed and smiled. "Great!" he called. "So…what's the secret?"

"It's a clue, actually…" Rachel stuttered – she was incredibly happy – and she stood up. "Wait."

Rachel walked over to the silver clock. She opened the small door in the back – where the batteries were kept – and pulled out a small piece of paper.

She came back, sat down in front of the boys, and passed it to Sam.

Sam took the paper slowly. He realized quickly this was the great _secret_.

There were only two words written on the paper: _Villa Zorayda_

Sam showed it to Dean who then looked at Rachel. "Do you know its meaning?"

Rachel nodded. "It's a place…here in St. Augustine." Rachel thought for a moment said, "It's also been known as Zorayda Castle…" She bit her lip as she tried to remember all the details. "It was built in the 1880s…by a millionaire named Franklin Smith…back in 'ninety-three…the place was added to the U.S. National Register of Historic Places."

"Does anyone live in it?" Sam asked.

"Yes," Rachel said. She was confused to. "I'm sorry…I know it's not the greatest secret…but it's the first clue…and from there…I guess you keep finding clues until you find the weapon?"

"Wait," Dean sighed. "You don't know anything but Villa Zorayda…"

Rachel shrugged. "Look…my ancestor, Reverend Mitchell Hannigan…he and the priest, Taft, were the only ones in South Bell Church when the service took place…they must have been working with the creator of the revolver to ensure it was protected…Hannigan and Taft were the only ones to know the truth…Taft was found guilty of witchcraft…" She rolled her eyes. "People are so ignorant…" She shook her head. "But yes…Hannigan made it clear that we were meant to pass the clue…and it was very important…" She shrugged again. "Perhaps it's not the place itself. But something _around_ it…"

"God," Dean groaned. "I hate scavenger hunts."

Sam nodded. "We have a lot of work ahead of us."

Rachel nodded. "You must be capable of finding it…my grandmother told me that only good men could find it…I never understood, as a child, why finding it had to be so time consuming…the world could end right now and it could have been prevented if someone had that gun…but…" She sighed. "I dunno. It's all for a reason, right?"

Dean nodded. "What's meant to be is meant to be…" He thought of Amy… "It's not the first time I've heard something like that."

Sam looked back down on the old sheet of paper. It was obvious the name of the place had to be rewritten over time. In fact, the place never had to be written down on paper. Rachel could have just told them the name.

He felt new hope. A greater hope than he had felt in such a long time. Sam began to tear the small paper into tiny pieces. When he was done, watching the debris fall onto the white carpet, Sam looked up and sighed, "Lets get to work." And smiled.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update ASAP with **Chapter Sixteen – Scavenger Hunt**. Hope you're all enjoying – nothing TOO exciting yet – but hey, the existence of a second Colt has got to be good, right?

Thanks again for all of your reviews and I look forward to reading more! I really appreciate the great COMMENTS!

Will update ASAP!

Oh! And I wanted to add my opinion about the character Jo…if you go to IMDB sites, and read posts about her on the _Supernatural_ board…you'll find people are _very_ opinionated about her.

Before we actually met "Jo," I liked the idea of having a female-hunterish character. Then we actually met Jo. I didn't like her from the start. (I love Alona Tal…but "Jo" looks like she's thirteen). Too 'Mary Sue' (apparently she's awesome at poker…too awesome)…she's too frail and gentle to be a serious hunter…and, even though it was funny she punched Dean in the face…Dean's too good of a hunter to be punched by a girl. She was very unrealistic and made too perfect…she had the SAME taste in music at Dean's…and they seemed to hit it off too well in the beginning…then we had "No Exit"…and everyone seemed to hate her. She's just going to get in the way. And I felt the writers were trying to push Dean and Jo together too fast. And they were suddenly fighting a lot (like a married couple)…but when they first met, they got along fine…and then at the END…when Jo totally does a really cruel thing and slaps Dean with the truth that it was John's fault that Jo's dad was dead…c'mon! That was terrible…but…after watching "Born Under a Bad Sign"…writers made it clear that Dean and Jo will NEVER happen…even though Jo may like Dean, Dean definitely has no romantic feelings for her…which is good…and, in an Eric Kripke interview, he stated that Dean-Jo pairing will not happen. So yay. But I liked how Jo was in "BUABS"…she was done better and she was definitely not a Mary Sue…until she tried to tag along with Dean and she said, "I'm a part of this now." (Sorry, I was thinking, you're not.) But yes…that's my opinion….

Will update ASAP


	17. Ch 16 x Scavenger Hunt

**Chapter Sixteen – Scavenger Hunt**

"Witch craft has been practiced in my family for _years_," Rachel Benson explained as she placed a tea cup into Sam's grasp. He took it gratefully, drank the tea, and nodded. Dean was stuffing a vanilla cookie into his mouth and took a large gulp of tea when Rachel sat down across from them and continued. "It's not evil. At least, not what _we _do is evil. We've always used it for protection purposes." She pointed to the Cimaruta on the silver table.

"But this demon we're dealing with," Sam inquired, "it's _powerful_…it didn't even have a reaction to _holy_ water."

"Hmm," Rachel nodded, drinking her own tea. "Things like that can happen. Remember, I'm not a hunter. I practice witch craft." She laughed at herself.

"So how is it you're protected?" Dean asked. "The Demon could have stormed in here and figured out the first clue."

"The custom of Cimaruta is _very_ old," Rachel explained. "As well as the practice. My family has been practicing the craft since the 1600s. Its _age_ gives it power – like how time gives wine a better taste." She put her tea cup on the table. "And it's about the bloodline…_everyone_ in my family has practiced it. Witch craft is no secret. I have a fourteen-year-old and a thirteen-year-old…they know the truth…they know witch craft isn't about cloaks and wands and sacrificing a cat…" Rachel smiled. "It's a _family_ thing…and it's about blood…our practicing the craft…especially keeping it in the family…makes the power of Cimaruta greater…which is why we've _always_ been protected…and as long as we continue practicing it…and using it for _good_…_we will always be protected_."

Sam nodded in understanding. It was about family. It was about blood. It was about the connection that had existed for centuries…

"I'll help in any way I can…" Rachel offered. She rubbed her hands together nervously.

"Do you know anything about the Tom Saul Cole funeral service?" Dean asked curiously.

Rachel shrugged and said, "It's always been assumed that Hannigan and Taft were placing spells on the corpse of August Colt. To protect him and the Colt. They must have been doing things to the coffin itself…carving protective symbols and charms into it…and that was it…they were even in charge of burying the coffin…"

"Did August Colt ever get married?" Sam asked. "No wife, children?"

Rachel shook her head. "That I know." She pursed her lips. "Most hunters – back in the day – were either perfectly okay with having a family…or were perfectly _not-_okay…August Colt was afraid of any harm coming to his family…or his future generations…plus, it's also an old custom that if someone…as the last of their bloodline…were to die…they could place one hell of a powerful charm on themselves…"

Dean nodded slowly. "August Colt was pretty cautious in protecting the Colt."

Sam: "There were forty bullets…" He thought carefully. "Did August Colt ever use any?"

Rachel shrugged again. "I'm not sure…the revolver and the case of the _forty_ bullets was buried with August Colt – I mean, _Tom Saul Cole_. In my opinion, I don't think he used any."

Sam and Dean nodded in unison. Dean was the first to stand and Sam followed his lead.

"Thank you Rachel for your help," Dean said earnestly. "We'll let you know when we find it."

"Don't," Rachel smiled sheepishly. "It's just…" She shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I'd rather not know…" Her eyes went to a silver picture frame on the mantle. She walked over, picked it up, and came back to Dean and Sam. The frame itself had Cimaruta on it. The picture the frame help revealed the images of two young teenage girls on a swing set. Rachel touched the photograph and said, "If I've done what I had to do…then let it end there…" She showed the picture to Dean and Sam. "I want my children to know everything about their family…but with the Colt-thing finally done with…I'd like them to have a touch of normalcy in their life."

Sam looked at the picture. He stared into the faces of two young girls with the same dark-colored hair as their mother. He thought of Aurora Donnelly.

"Thank you," Sam said slowly.

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy, sitting at her desk in the bedroom, was compiling a new outline for one of her classes, when she noticed rock salt by her windowsill.

Her eyes stared at the salt oddly at first. She turned in her chair and quietly leaned over to get a closer glance. Her fingers reached for it and she touched it gently.

She dusted the thick salt from her fingers and called loudly, "Izzy!"

"Yeah!" was the reply, coming from the second bedroom.

"Do you _mind_ telling me why there's salt on the window!" Amy called again. Her eyes then noted that there was salt along the floor too – where carpet met wall – and the thick line of rock salt was everywhere.

Isabella suddenly appeared in the doorway of Amy's bedroom. She looked around, slightly nervous, and Amy turned to her and asked, "Did we spill a bit of salt?"

"Umm…" Izzy started. She laughed and then said, "'Guess I'm getting clumsy."

Amy raised an eyebrow.

"Well…" Isabella began. "I got a phone call from Dean…" Amy looked more concerned, suddenly.

"And did he tell you we were in trouble from demons, or an angry spirit?" Amy questioned angrily.

"Wait, you know-"

"Duh," Amy laughed. "When a hunter tells you its okay that he bought large bags of rock salt and stuffs them into the pantry…you ask questions."

Isabella sighed. "Well then…" She threw her hands in the air. "Well now that you know…" She looked at Amy stiffly. "I think Dean was just afraid that something _might_ come…"

"And you _forgot_ to tell me this?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"Umm…you just spread salt around the entire apartment…to protect us from _evil_…" Amy smiled slowly.

"I call it demon-proofing."

"Well…" Amy's voice seemed quieter. "That's just dandy."

O.O.O.O.O.

"The villa contains luxurious interior details, including tropical hardwood furniture and the "Sultans Den" which includes a 2,300 year-old rug made from woven cat fur. One of the more notable features of the building is the windows, each window is a different shape and size, following the superstition the spirits would be able to leave the house but have difficulty finding their way back. Over the years, the building has been used as a speakeasy and a movie set. The building is currently undergoing a complete renovation and is set to open fully sometime in 2007…" Sam read from the Wikipedia site.

Dean nodded as he stared at the building before them. It was a magnificent building – creative architecture and Sam was right – all the windows were different shapes and sizes. It was a beige color with a lot of maroon and brown complimentary colors. Its location was perfect too. The bridge was in the background along with the beach to the east.

The Castle Zorayda stood still against the new, cool wind. Palm trees and other beach trees were scattered around the property – as well as an iron fence surrounding the area.

Sam and Dean both got out of the Impala – parked across the street – and leaned against the car as they studied the mansion.

"It does have a bit of supernatural history…windows were built to confuse lost spirits…" Sam said aloud.

"Still…" Dean thought carefully. "This building was built back in the 1800s…" He tilted his head as he looked at the Villa Zorayda. "August Colt wanted _this_ place to be a clue…"

Sam nodded slowly. He was soaking up the entire landscape. The building, the trees, the sky, the ground…

Dean suddenly tapped Sam's shoulder and he looked at Dean who was looking in the direction behind them.

Several feet away, across another distant street, was a cemetery…

Sam narrowed his eyes in that direction and asked, "You think…"

"Maybe," Dean shrugged. "Lets give it a look."

O.O.O.O.O.

_Sepulcretum ab Charonontis Aviusm_ was written across an old wooden sign in the entrance of the cemetery.

Sam approached the wooden sign, reading aloud the title of the place and a small description beneath: "'Cemetery of Lost Souls'… 'In the early 1800s, those committed of crimes and found guilty were buried here'…"

Dean looked around the place for a moment. There were about fifty to sixty tombstones scattered around. The ground was dry and brittle from the cold air and nothing seemed to be growing but old weeds.

"August Colt? Here?" Dean guessed.

"Or someone else…" Sam decided. "Look around."

O.O.O.O.O.

"May God Have Mercy On His Soul" or "RIP" were the only two phrases carved into the gray tombstones.

Sam was on the north side of the cemetery while Dean scouted the south. Both had been given special silver Cimaruta-protected stones to keep with them. It would draw away demons, Rachel assured. Hopefully the Demon wasn't watching them right now…

His eyes darted to another gravestone reading: _Holland DeLeon. 1743-1845. RIP._

He continued his walk around the place. His hands were stuck deep into his pockets. The evening was approaching fast and the sun would soon disappear. The air was getting colder…

Boots crunching across the flat ground, Sam walked around imagining the types of people buried beneath him. Thieves. Murderers. Rapists. The Wrongly Accused…

Sam stopped in his tracks. He looked at a gravestone before him, turned around, and called Dean's name.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean finally found Sam kneeling down before a gravestone. He looked irritated – he had read at least forty different names and had no idea exactly _who _they were looking for.

But Dean was surprised too when he found Sam kneeling before a gravestone in particular.

_Jonathan Taft_

_1888 – 1933_

_May God Have Mercy On His Soul_

"The _priest_…" Dean whispered aloud. He was careful. He knew there was a chance that the Demon or one of its "kids" could be lurking around…he was praying the Cimaruta would work.

Sam rubbed his chin and sighed. "Our second clue is right here…"

"Yeah, well, _I_'m not seeing it…" Dean mocked.

Both knew what had to be done…

Sam sighed heavily and stood up. "Looks like we're making a visit back here tonight…when it's _darker_…"

"Yay…" Dean moaned annoyingly. "We're diggin' up a priest."

O.O.O.O.O.

It was two o'clock in the morning. The roads were empty and the houses were quiet. The lights in the Villa Zorayda were dim and suddenly gone.

St. Augustine slept peacefully while, digging into the earth, Dean and Sam's heads were sticking out of the rectangular-sized hole in the ground.

Michelle and Jo, called on duty, sat Indian-style on the ground watching the Winchester's toss dirt out with a pair of shovels.

In the distance, on all four corners of the cemetery, Murph, Vin, Stan, and Hawk were on guard duty. Aaron was returning to the spot where Michelle and Jo sat.

Both women wore jeans and leather jackets with their hair resting on their shoulders. They looked tired – it was two o'clock in the morning – and they were impatient.

Aaron, jeans and a flannel jacket, approached the hole in the ground and called to Dean and Sam quietly, "Coast is still clear. Find anything yet?"

"A few dead worms and roots," Dean laughed as he scooped up more dirt.

Aaron let out a harty laugh and nodded. "'Kay…you boys keep at it…I'm gonna join back up with Hawk and keep an eye out."

The hunter left and Michelle and Jo were left in silence once again.

Dean of course had been the one to protest they call the others for back-up.

"After all," Sam had said, "if there's trouble – we'll need the help."

Dean's rule was that no one was to speak unless they had to. This was hard for Jo. She was impatient and wanted to ask "Found anything yet" or "Any coffin poppin' up yet?"

Another shovel-full of dirt popped out of the holy and Sam wiped his dirty, sweaty forehead.

The end of Dean's shovel hit the ground again – and there it was – a hit! The shovel had hit wood…

Sam, still sweating, re-rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and looked over the ground to Jo and Michelle.

"We got something!" he whispered.

Sam went back down to help Dean try to uncover the coffin.

In no time, they found an old wooden box – not really a coffin – and they had moved away enough dirt to find the lock.

"Jo," Dean whispered, "hand me my pocket knife."

The young woman did as she was told. She knelt down on the ground and handed Dean the small knife. She held a flashlight over their work.

Getting through the lock, Dean let out a deep, relieved sigh. His eyes met Sam's. Both were thinking: _Here it is…_

Sam moved aside a bit for Dean to pop open the lid of the coffin.

Their feet were carefully placed on mounds of dirt as they opened the coffin and Sam felt himself suddenly slide downward and into the coffin. He caught himself quickly but found he was almost face-to-face with the corpse…

The smell wasn't as bad as they had expected…

The corpse was still rotting. The body of what had been Jonathan Taft was covered in small maggots or dying roots. There wasn't a skeleton visible…just bones covered in a thin, almost-black flesh. There was a patch of light brown hair and the mouth was wide opened – it was seen that Taft had _had_ straight teeth.

Jonathan Taft had been buried in a regular black outfit – not the uniform of a priest – but that of a "criminal."

"Hello Jon…" Dean stiffened at the sight of the dead man.

Jo had her hand over her mouth while Michelle cringed.

Dean inspected the coffin carefully. There were no Cimaruta carved into the coffin or any other symbols.

His hands reached down to search the pockets.

Nothing…

Dean's hand carefully went around the priest's neck…

Sure enough, he found something.

He pulled a white gold chain carefully off the corpse's neck. The chain was long and had to be tied around three times.

When Dean finally had the chain completely off, it was revealed to all that there was a pendant of a cross dangling on the chain.

"A cross necklace…" Dean said sarcastically, "this is it?"

"No…" Sam narrowed his eyes at the pendant. He reached for it and Dean handed it to him carefully. Looking at the cross more meticulously, Sam shook his head and touched the odd grooves on the cross.

"It's a key…" Sam whispered.

O.O.O.O.O.

At three A.M. the group decided to retreat and sleep.

Jo and the group went their way – still puzzled about the key that had been found around Father Taft's neck.

The drive back had been quiet. Dean forced his eyes to stay open while Sam, with the cross-key still in hand, researched on his laptop. There weren't a lot of great results from his search. Priests could have had keys for anything – for any purpose. Father Taft could have used it as a key to the church, an offering box, his own home…

Sam shook his head in defeat. _They were so close…_and this was the key to something. _Maybe this unlocks the box where the Colt is kept…or maybe it opens up to another "clue"…maybe it's not meant for opening…_Sam found he was doing it again…too many guesses at once…_Think carefully, _he told himself…

His own tired eyes were fighting against him. His stomach wanted a hot dinner but his mind was begging for rest…

A fire, an odd apparition with Grammy, and an abduction by demons…now the search for a second Colt…Sam felt he had had enough excitement over the last two-three days.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean crashed into bed without removing his shoes or shirt. He was dirty and still sweaty from the dig. But he didn't care. And neither did Sam.

Sam took the time to remove his dirty clothes and actually slipped into a pair of pajama pants Amy had gotten him. In bold letters, going down the right leg, read: NORTHWESTERN. He finished with a white T-shirt, went to the bathroom, plashed cold water on his face, and threw himself down on the softest mattress in the world…

_So close…_he thought. _We'll get the gun, kill the demon…have lives again…_

A life without Jess. Without Mom…and Dad…

It was still a life worth living. A life worth fighting for. Sam felt his thoughts crash together – and different thoughts too. He imagined Jessica in her Halloween outfit one year – she was a vampire – and she had had on a purple wig and fake fangs…he thought of his father taking him on one of those hunting trips when he was only six…he thought of Amy giving him the pajama pants and laughing at the purple color…he thought of Dean…would his brother have a normal life? It could all end soon…within the next few days…and what would Dean do?

Too many different thoughts were colliding…like waves fighting for territory…everything splashed on top of one another…

Sleep was coming fast…exhaustion took ever…he felt his stiff ankles from underneath his sheets relax…his arms were resting comfortably underneath a pillow, supporting his head…he felt his sticky face contact with the pillow…

He took a deep breath, feeling a calm wave splash on top of him…he was soon asleep…ignoring the quiet snores of his brother in the next bed…

O.O.O.O.O.

A young woman peeked outside her window. A young blonde, in her twenties, with a pointy nose and small brown eyes, looked through the glass in her apartment again.

Yes, she had heard something…

It was nearly four in the morning…she felt unsafe…

Something _had _to be inside…

She was dressed in a white robe and blue, fuzzy slippers. Her hair was a mess around her eyes…

Closing the blinds, the woman turned around from the living room window and went over to the couch…

Was someone here?

But it was too late…

She turned around and her face collided with a large amount of a black smoky-substance.

The woman screamed. And her cries only made it easier for the demon to enter her innocent body…

Her arms flailed around as her body crashed back down on the sofa…

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. There were no longer any brown eyes…but eyes as black as night…

There was a knocking on the door. The demon, flashing its eyes so they looked human, stood from the sofa and automatically walked to the front door.

She opened it, allowing a man in a black business suit to come in. His eyes were black too…

The man walked in, dropping a briefcase on the floor, and turned to the woman in the robe.

"Took you long enough to find one," the man snapped.

The blonde smiled and said, "I like blondes…you know that…"

The man shook his head, aggravated, and sat down on one of the couches.

The woman walked around and sat beside him.

"Have you spoken with Father?" the demonic blonde asked.

The man loosened the tie from around his neck and tossed it to the floor. "He wants us to give the Winchester's space…he wants them fearful…"

"After that little incident in the warehouse," the blonde grinned, "they must be worried about their friends."

"Father says the Winchesters are up to something…" the man notified.

"What?" the blonde asked seriously.

He shrugged. "Not sure." He tilted his head. "Father's not sure. He doesn't seem to care. The only thing he wants right now is to slowly corrupt the boy…"

"Sam's not a boy…" the woman said devilishly, licking her bottom lip. "He's quite the _man…_" She laughed. "Boy…did I love the look on their faces when we brought up that girl-"

"Amy."

"Yes…" the woman laughed. "I thought it was quite funny."

"We had to scare them…" the man was smiling too. He turned to the blonde, lifting his hand to touch her cheek. "It is a shame…we can't go near her…"

The woman pouted her lips. "It is a pity…" She smiled. "She could be a lot of fun to play with."

"You know the rules…" the man hissed violently. His hand slowly reached around her neck. He squeezed hard. The woman barely gasped and the man continued: "You know the _law…_little Amy is _special…_we can't hurt her…you know the consequences…"

"_Yes,_" the female demon responded. "Quite lucky for the Winchesters, don't you think…their little Amy is so _special, _so _different_…" She reeled her head back, her throat was free from the other demon's grasp. "We would have torn her apart by now…but noo…we have to follow the world's goddamn _rules…_"

"We're lucky the Winchesters don't know the truth about her…" the man threatened again. He rubbed his hands nervously on his knees. "Keeping them scared is good…but if they ever found out the truth…they could use it to their advantage…"

"Father knows more than he's sharing…" the blonde snapped.

"Yes, possibly," the male demon said. "But we follow his orders…and we do what we can to ensure the Winchesters don't learn the truth about their friend…"

They remained silent. The wind blew carelessly out the window. It soon became rough – the branches of trees were scratching against the glass…

It was now obvious. The demons had no idea what the Winchesters were up to…the Demon knew nothing of the second Colt…

But they did know something about Amy…

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam awoke to Dean's cell phone ringing. He groaned, wishing Dean wouldn't be lazy and pick it up, but Sam turned in bed to hear Dean was in the shower.

He grunted. Yawned. And Sam leaned over in bed to reach for the center nightstand.

It was eight in the morning. Too late to be waking up, Sam thought. He blinked through tired eyes as he reached for the cell phone and he answered without looking at the caller ID. "Hello?" he breathed roughly.

"Sam?" Amy's voice asked.

Sam's eyes grew wide and he sat up in bed. "Amy-"

"Would you mind telling me why my roommate – who is lucky because she pays no rent at all – was spreading rock salt around my apartment?" Amy questioned authoritatively.

He searched his thoughts quickly – remembering the call Dean had made before.

"Amy…" Sam said slowly. "Umm…uh…" He realized Dean must not have explained a whole lot to Izzy. "Dean called just to…be cautious…"

"Izzy was _demon proofing_ my apartment…" Amy demanded. "And I know it's used for protection against bad spirits and even demons…" She was upset – obviously – but Sam picked up more fear than anything. He imagined her on the phone – shaking, almost crying – forcing herself to keep it together – to sound strong.

"Amy…" Sam assured calmly. "I swear, it was just a precaution…everything is okay…everything will be okay-"

"What's going on Sam?" Amy begged. "How are things with the Demon search? Anything good?"

"Umm, actually…" Sam was ready to explain the entire story behind the Colt…but he was afraid that somehow demons could be listening in. And he wanted to protect her… "Things are fine, Amy…" Sam said straight-forward. "We'll call – I promise – when we're done. Okay?"

"Sam, is everything okay?" Amy's voice was quieter…she was crying. "Are you and Dean _okay_?"

He felt like crying too. He fought against it. "Amy, we'll call you when all this is okay, okay?" He didn't wait for anything else. He hung up.

He hung up on Amy. He had never done that before. But he was trying to protect her…and he needed a clear head.

Besides…the demons could possibly be after her…

_It'll be okay Amy…_Sam thought. _I promise…_

Sam reached into his white T-shirt and pulled out the long white gold chain. His hand found the key and he touched the grooves of the cross again.

Dean popped his head out of the steamy bathroom – half naked – and asked, "Were you talking to somebody?" His face and hair was still wet from the shower.

Sam looked up, still holding the cross, and shook his head. "Hurry up and get out of there," Sam demanded. "I need to get in there…and we need to figure out what to do with this…"

"Gotcha Sammy…" Dean rolled his eyes and disappeared into the steam of the bathroom.

Sam looked back at Dean's cell phone. The screen was still flashing: _AMY'S CELL – CALL ENDED._

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Thank you all soo much for the reviews! And the awesome comments! Please continue leaving them and I'll address all of you in a later chapter! So c'mon…every ONE of you who is reading this should leave AWESOME comments…because they make me happy and they give me incentive to update more and more and more…

Hope you're all enjoying…and keep up with the awesome reviews/comment/feedback!

C'mon! Pleeaaseee….at least 20 reviews per chapter?

Will update ASAP!


	18. Ch 17 x The Key

A/N: Thanks again to all who have reviewed! I've had over 4,250 hits to my story – which means I have over 4,000 people reading and about 3,100 NOT reviewing! Lol – what's up with that?!

Ghostwriter: Thanks again for reviewing!

Sleepinbeauty: Yes, I was quite close with giving a Dean/Amy conversation…but hesitated. Trying to build anxiety and excitement here, lol. Thanks for reading and for reviewing!

Lilly B.: I'm glad you're enjoying the scavenger hunt. I thought it was about time we get more _Supernatural_ness in it again. Thanks for the review!

Jenn: Glad you're enjoying and I hope you keep reading!

Slimshadyzlady: I'm glad you got angry about the hanging-up-part. _My_ story better than the _actual_ show – that totally made my day! I ADORE the show, but with this season getting so serious, I've missed the first season's flow. I thought "Tall Tales" was a good addition-episode – everything before was depressing – so it was good to get an episode that was completely humorous – but still, I've enjoyed Season One more than Season Two. Thanks for the review and keep reading please!

Visiongirl1987: I'm glad you love Amy (and glad your name is Amy, lol). Keep reading and reviewing!

PadFootCc: I'm glad we have the same taste as Jo. Amy and Jo…catfight? Definitely a possibility…maybe nothing so much as a "cat fight"…but something interesting may happen in the future. Keep reading and thanks for the review – hope to get more!

Spuffyshipper: Thanks for the review and the insight on the Dean-Jo pairing! I read another article and Kripke specifically said: "No sex for Dean and Jo!" and I laughed. Thanks for the review!

IheartPadalecki: Love the review and I'm glad everyone is anticipating the Dean-Amy relationship…will it be okay? Will they end…? Hmm…keep reading and reviewing!

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Seventeen – The Key**

Dean held the white gold cross in his hand carefully. It was actually heavy and was found to be annoying to wear. The cross itself was a key…Dean had mulled over a dozen possibilities while Sam was using up whatever free time to shower.

The grooves were old – definitely not a modern key – and looked as if it had maybe been created before the 1800s.

_Something passed down through generations…Taft used this as a clue…a clue to lead to the Colt…but what the does the key lead to…what does it open…_

He imagined being Taft. A Catholic priest. Given the responsibility to hide the Colt and to ensure it would be protected over the years…Dean imagined being caught using witch craft – accused of being evil – and sentenced to death by hanging…

Taft was not allowed to wear his usual Priest-uniform…but he was still wearing the cross when they tossed his body into the wooden box…

_Sorry man,_ Dean thought.

He put the long white gold chain around his neck and ensured the cross was safely tucked underneath his white T-shirt.

He had actually taken the time to shave this morning – he was clean shaven now and somehow, the shave, had made him look cheerier. Not edgy or rough. But a gentleman.

His eyes lay upon his jacket hanging on the back of a chair – it was freezing outside, he guessed, another day to wear the leather brown jacket.

Bored, Dean reached for his black Chocolate cell phone. He had time to kill – and what better way than to listen to some music?

He first randomly checked his Call History…

_AMY'S CELL_ was the most recent…

_She called this morning…_Dean realized. _That's who Sam was talking to…_

Sam came out of the bathroom then, dressed in jeans and a navy blue T-shirt. He massaged his wet head with a white hotel towel.

"Tell me you've been doing _some_ research," Sam whined as he stared at Dean plainly sitting on his bed.

Dean motioned to the cell phone and said, "You failed to mention that _Amy_ called…"

He stood stiff in the frame of the bathroom doorway. Sam nodded slowly and said, "Yeah. She was just concerned with why you told Izzy to spread rock salt in the apartment-"

"And you didn't tell me?" Dean snapped. "Dude," his voice was sign enough of his anger, "why didn't you tell me? She called me-"

"Dean," Sam protested, throwing the towel down on the floor, "she was just freaked. Okay? And I didn't want whatever issue going on with the two of you messing you up…Dean…do you realize right now how _close_ we are to the Colt?"

"Yeah-"

"Dean…" Sam said earnestly. His eyes were sad but his lips were forced into a straight position. "I love Amy, you know that…but keeping her out of this was the best idea we've had in a long time…I hate it…especially since we're all on kind-of awkward terms…but right now, we all need to keep our focus…we can't lose the Colt because you were pissed about something or too worried about Amy…"

He tossed his cell phone on the comforter of his bed and Dean stood up. "If I remember correctly…" Dean snapped, "_you_ were the one to push me to her…back in North Carolina…all I wanted to do was to protect her…but nooo…_you_ said she was part of our world and that there was no reason to shut her out…you know what man…" Dean laughed at himself. "So I trusted my brother more than my gut…and next thing I know: it's _me and Amy_…and then she was my girlfriend…and _now…_" Dean shook his head and walked in a circle in between the two beds. "Now…I haven't even spoken to her in months…I still haven't taken her out on a proper date…I've been an _ass_ more than I have been a boyfriend…" His lips were pursed angrily. "And yeah…I want to protect her…and I'm too much of a coward to call her…but _you_ decided not to tell me when she calls? And she called _me_, Sammy…" He laughed mockingly. "I guess you're the one who makes the decisions when it comes to Amy and me…"

Sam stared sadly at the carpet. He rubbed his thumb over his eyes tiredly and sighed. "Dean, I'm so-"

"Don't," Dean added in quickly. "Let's just try and figure out what to do with this…" Dean's hand reached for the cross hanging on the inside of his shirt.

Another word was not spoken about Amy. Both were concerned about her safety. After all, the demons had threatened her…and Isabella…

But both Winchesters knew it would be a subject to be brought up again at a later time.

O.O.O.O.O.

Jonathan Taft was a priest at St. Catherine's Cathedral. The church itself was built in the late 1400s and was still intact to the present.

The Chevy Impala was parked across the street from the white cathedral. It had large, gray steps and glass windows of a variety of colors.

Dean and Sam, dressed warmly in their jackets, had their hands in their pockets as they walked up the steps of the cathedral and entered in through a pair of heavy wooden doors.

O.O.O.O.O.

The brothers waited patiently in the church, sitting in one of the red pews, as an old nun approached them.

Her hair was hidden away by her black uniform. She had a gentle face – an angular nose and a wide grin – and she gave Dean and Sam a bright smile as she walked over.

"I am Sister Elizabeth," the woman greeted.

Dean and Sam were already on their feet and they kindly shook hands with the nun.

"I understand you have a few questions?" the old woman asked.

O.O.O.O.O.

The nun carefully traced her delicate finger over the grooves of the cross. Her first reaction was plain – she merely thought it was a pendant of a cross. She was surprised to find that it was a key instead.

The three sat in the pews together, with Dean leaning on the pew in front of them, and Sam was sitting beside Sister Elizabeth.

"This is fascinating," Sister Elizabeth remarked. She looked up and said, "I've never seen this sort of key used before…you say you believe it belonged to a priest?"

"Yes, from _a while_ ago," Dean mentioned. "His name was Jonathan Taft." He looked at Sam, then back at Sister Elizabeth.

"Is there any chance there might be some of his belongings here?" Sam asked.

Sister Elizabeth sighed and said, "Our attic is an entire storage space of what was left behind by past members of St. Catherine's." She stared back down at the key. "I don't know the name Jonathan Taft…"

"Ma'am," Sam asked nicely, "it would mean a lot if we could figure out what exactly the key opens…we could search the attic ourselves – with your supervision, of course – but its imperative…this key is a precious family heirloom…" Sam put on his kindest face possible. "And we really just want to get more in touch with our history."

Sister Elizabeth smiled tenderly. She placed her hand over Sam's, and handed him back the cross-key.

"You're a good soul, I can tell," the nun whispered. "I trust you both. You're welcome to look through the attic. I'll check in on occasion if you need anything."

O.O.O.O.O.

"Sammy's getting better at being a _good_ soul," Dean mocked as he rummaged through some old books.

The attic was the size of a standard living room. Old desks and cabinets of past members – mostly priests – had been stacked there when one retired (or died). There were piles of books – some even completely covered an old chest – one in which did not require a key to open.

There were dozens of files and folders and old logs. Sam sat in an old wooden chair as he flipped through past documents.

Dean stood in the far corner, dusting off the top of another cabinet, opened it, and to his dismay found more books and papers.

"Maybe we're at the wrong place," Sam thought. He was frustrated, obviously, and threw down a pile of papers at his feet. "We should have called Rachel…she might have known something…"

"_Nah_, lets not bother her," Dean suggested.

Sam sighed as he began to rummage through more papers. "I feel like we're trapped in the _Da Vinci Code_ scenario…" he whined. His eyes motioned to the cross hanging around his brother's neck.

Dean nodded as he flipped through an old black book. It contained information on tithes and offerings. He closed the book and put it back on a gray shelf.

"Okay…" Dean said aloud, looking at Sam, "you're a priest…you're working with another holy guy to protect a powerful weapon that can kill any supernatural thing…your buddy is in charge of passing the information down…while you make this fun scavenger hunt for the one who deserves to find the Colt…you probably set it up so you'll be buried with the cross…where would you assume the finder of the cross-key would go next…"

"I'd say his place of work," Sam suggested. He looked around the attic.

Dean tapped his finger against his lip. "Cross leads to _church_…key leads to a _lock_…" He grunted loudly. Dean removed the cross from around his neck and studied the key carefully. "What to do next…"

In a motion of aggravation, Dean tossed the cross-and-chain across the attic to Sam.

Sam caught it in the air and as his eyes glanced down-

It had been a while since Sam had had a vision –

The pain first erupted in his head. He wasn't sure if he had screamed in pain or not – but he suddenly felt Dean's hands firmly on his shoulders.

The pain then moved to his eyes…

_Everything was gray…dark-colored…_

_It was the attic…_

Sam fell onto his knees. Dean's eyes were wide with terror as he watched Sam's teeth and cheeks clench.

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean coaxed loudly.

_Jonathan Taft, in the usual uniform, walked into the attic quietly…_

_He had dark black hair and light-colored eyes…_

_He was stepping quietly across the attic floor…_

_It was obvious he was being quiet on purpose. He wanted to make sure no one would follow…_

_The attic was just as cluttered as it was in the present…papers, books, old desks and chairs were scattered everywhere…_

_There was an old wooden bench attached to the far wall of the attic…_

_Father Taft walked to the bench, opened the lid, and hurried to remove a loose wooden plank…_

_From inside his cape, the priest removed a small black book with an outline of a cross drawn in gold on the cover…_

_Taft ensured no one was around or looking, and quickly hid the book inside the bench. He put the plank back and quickly moved a desk in front of it and piled some other books on the bench…_

_When his task was complete, Taft arranged his collar neatly and exited the attic-_

Sam's eyes shot opened as he gasped for breath. The pain lingered in his head while his eyes stung with salty tears.

Dean knelt down beside Sam, resting his hand underneath his arm, and beckoned, "What happened? Sam? Sammy?"

He looked down at the cross in his hands…then Sam looked to where the bench would be…

"There…" Sam whispered. He motioned he needed to get up and Dean helped. The older Winchester stared worriedly at Sam as he moved to the far wall and pushed an old desk over.

Dean helped him, for there were about three or four other desks that needed to be moved…

Finally, the old bench was visible…

Sam put the chain around his neck and with his free hands began to push off the books on the bench onto the floor. Dean helped again. He wasn't sure what was happening, but it didn't matter, Psychic Boy was doing whatever he was supposed to be doing…

The bench was clear and Sam slowly lifted up the lip.

Inside were a few more books organized in a row. Sam moved away the books he knew were blocking the way…

Sam quickly pushed more books out of the way until he found the exact the same plank of wood he had seen in his vision.

"There…" Sam whispered.

He took out a pocket knife from his jacket and Sam used the small blade to force the plank of wood loose.

He had done it.

Sam looked at Dean – who was still confused and waiting for the big finale – and reached his hand inside…

The same book Jonathan Taft had put inside the hiding place was soon in Sam's hands.

Dean watched as Sam wiped his sweaty hand across the cover – removing the dust – and both looked upon the cross on the cover. A Bible? Sam slowly opened the cover of the book – and it was not a bible – but Taft's journal.

And on the inside of the cover was a Cimaruta charm.

"It's a _start_," Sam whispered slowly.

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy walked through the halls of Northwestern dressed professionally in black slacks, a white dress shirt and a fashionable blue vest. She carried her black bag beside her and her eyes were focused on her office door.

From afar, she could still see the bold black letters of _'Dr' _and _'PhD'_.

She forced any thoughts of Sam and Dean away. They were busy – they were possibly in trouble – and there was nothing she could do. She was being forced away too. It was only time that she do the same.

She came to her office door and was surprised to find it slightly open.

Her hand reached for the doorknob nervously and she cautiously peered inside.

Dean Karajan was sitting in one of her guest chairs on the other side of her desk. He was laughing with a man who was sitting beside him – a man Amy did not recognize.

She entered, making her presence known with the swift swing of the door.

The dean looked back at her and smiled. He laughed cheerily and rose to his feet to greet her.

Amy nodded and said, "Good morning, Dean Karajan." Her eyes went to the man who had been talking with him.

He stood too and greeted Amy with a small, warm smile. The man had dark brown hair – almost black – and gentle eyes. He looked slightly older – but not too old. He was attractive, indeed. He didn't look like a colleague of Karajan's; the stranger was dressed in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a thin black coat over his attire.

"Professor Cromwell," Dean Karajan greeted, "I'd like to introduce you to Eric Lawson."

Eric Lawson approached Amy and held his hand out. Amy accepted the greeting, reaching for his hand, and instead of shaking her hand, the newcomer kissed her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure, Dr. Cromwell," the man said. He had a Scottish accent and a charming smile.

Amy smiled back and said, "It's nice to meet you Mr. Lawson. You're from Scotland?"

"Very good," Eric grinned. "I usually get Irish. Then English is next. You're the first to guess correctly the first time."

"I'll hold it as one of my biggest achievements," she joked.

Eric let Amy's hand go and she stood staring at the two men.

"Is there anything I can do for you gentlemen?" she finally asked.

"Have a seat, Amy," the dean offered.

Amy walked around her desk and sat down. Eric Lawson and Dean Karajan did the same in their own seats.

"Eric is a friend of mine – I'm good friends with his father," Dean Karajan announced proudly. He slapped Eric on the shoulder. "He's come from Scotland on some business."

"Oh?" Amy inquired. She rested her hands on her desk properly and asked, "What sort of business?"

"Art," Eric stated plainly. He seemed to grow shy instantly –

"Oh yes," Karajan laughed, "Eric here is the curator of The _Van_ Gallery in Glasgow."

It was obvious that had been why Eric had grown suddenly shy.

Amy almost swallowed her surprise. "Wait…" she realized. "_You're_ the _curator_ of The Van Gallery?"

"You know it?" Karajan asked.

"Of course!" Amy laughed. She stared at Eric. "I heard about it three years ago. I've always wanted to go!" She leaned forward in her desk. "You've gotten your hands on some great works – especially by artists with the _Van_ in their name…Jan Van Eyck…Vincent Van Gogh-"

"My favorites," Eric nodded – he was still on shy-mode.

"They're my favorites too," Amy agreed.

A moment had passed between the two – Eric had nodded shyly and Amy was left astounded. She was still smiling when she realized Dean Karajan was clearing his throat.

"So," Amy asked, "what exactly are you doing here in Evanston?"

"Well," Eric said, "I came to visit the museum and to meet with Edward Harris. Do you know him?"

Amy remembered the man quite well. She and Dean had met him while investigating the Natiskawa-incident. She nodded plainly and said, "Oh yes."

Eric continued: "He has a few interesting Egyptian artifacts I thought could be spared to The Van Gallery. We've recently expanded the building and I thought we'd add more variety – we've completed Mesopotamian art, along with more Pre-Historic art…"

"Modern art?" Amy asked.

"No," Eric laughed. "Not a big fan."

"Me too," Amy laughed. "But that's incredible. So you're just here for that?"

"Eric is taking a bit of a break from the museum," Dean Karajan explained. "He wanted a better feel for the States. And he's been interested in a teaching job…I discussed with Eric that we could use a second Art History professor here…"

Amy looked back at Eric and grinned. "So _you're_ the one who was rumored to be replacing me."

"There'll be no replacing…" Dean Karajan said. "My plans were for the next school year – in August – to have the two of you share the load…Amy, you've become quite popular and the students love you…and I knew you were teaching more classes in different Art History areas…but now, with your decision to resign, Eric is still interested in teaching and I know he can still handle the load for the next term. I wanted the two of you to meet…perhaps, you can introduce him to the students and announce him properly for next term."

Amy nodded and said, "Oh, of course."

"I only want to teach for a year," Eric said. "I taught some at Oxford but then The Van Gallery took up most of my time. I'd like to teach again – and I've only heard great things from Northwestern." His attention was back on Amy. "I'm sorry to hear about your decision to resign."

Nodding to the Scottish man, Amy said, "I just need a change."

"Changes are good," Eric smiled. "They're inevitable."

"I agree," Amy admitted. She wasn't able to hide the sadness in her tone.

There were far too many changes occurring in her life…more than she could handle…

O.O.O.O.O.

The book turned out to be the journal of Jonathan Taft. He had started it in his early priesthood. His thoughts were mostly about his concern for his fellow man and that he hoped he was a strong solider for God.

Dean and Sam were at a café in town and were drinking coffee. Sam read a few excerpts from the book while Dean carefully listened to any clues leading to the key.

Sam was scanning the end of the journal – obviously where the information would be found.

"Here…listen…" Sam said. "_'I trust God. He will save us all. But he has found men to do His duty…his soldiers are careful and are preparing for some inevitable batter…we've been delivered the fiery sword that will smite the demons…'_" Sam stopped abruptly. He looked up at Dean – whose interest has suddenly perked up. He motioned for Sam to continue: "_The sword – His weapon – will be passed onto a solider who will use it for His will. To protect His children and to protect the Earth. The sword will be protected by a power that most will fear…a power that will force the demons away…_

'_If you're reading this, Soldier, look where God's light is shown on the water…there you will use the Key…_

'_God be with you on your plight.'_"

"That's it?" Dean demanded. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sam sighed and said, "We'll research further."

"At least we're getting close…" Dean nodded. He drank his coffee and leaned forward. "God's light on the water…hmmm…"

"Man, I'm exhausted…" Sam groaned. "My head still hurts too."

"It's okay," Dean said. "Hey, lets get back to the hotel…you rest while I research…"

Sam was smiling suddenly. "We're getting close, aren't we?"

Dean said nothing but was smiling too.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Had to write this chapter in a rush. Will update ASAP. Check out my profile – I've updated a pic on who Eric Lawson is. You'll be seeing more of him, trust me.

Reviews/Comments appreciated.


	19. Ch 18 x God's Light

**Chapter Eighteen – God's Light**

Eric waved back at the group of clapping students as he and Amy exited out the auditorium. Her class was left with a mentor to supervise an essay while Amy could show the newcomer around.

They walked side by side as Eric Lawson glanced through the halls and peered into the small windows of classes.

"This is a beautiful school…and the campus…" he admired softly. He looked at Amy and grinned shyly. "It's a shame you and I won't be colleagues next term."

Amy kept her hands professionally folded behind her as they walked. She bobbed her head gently in agreement and said, "This won't be the last Northwestern will see of me." Her eyes found Eric's and she explained ominously, "Just need a bit more _me_-time."

"I completely understand," the Scottish man said. He turned the corner and Amy was the one to follow. They walked into a different corridor and entered a glass hallway where they could view the campus of the school.

Students were rushing around outside trying to be prompt to their classes. One could see the cold creating the figure of their icy breaths.

"It's why I left Glasgow," Eric continued. He stopped and leaned against a piece of wall where he could look outside. Amy stood beside him, arms folded around her chest, people-gazing too. "I love the museum…but I've never seen myself as a business man. I love teaching. And I only have a small window of opportunity. This isn't my first trip to the States…" He stopped short, looking at Amy. He blushed as he smiled and said, "Sorry, I'm talking too much."

"Oh no," Amy laughed. "To be honest I like to hear you talk. It's the accent."

"It's _always_ the accent," Eric winked. It was the first time he had strayed from his gentlemen-persona. That one wink had given him a more _James Bond_ feel.

That wink reminded her of Dean's smile…_that_ smile…

"How long will you be here?" Amy asked curiously.

Eric shrugged and said, "A year… at the most. I'm sure the Gallery won't fall to pieces if I'm gone."

Amy sighed with a small smile on her face. "I hope to see it some day." She looked up at Eric. He was taller than she was and Amy felt Eric's eyes overpower her. "I've always wanted to travel Europe. London was always my number one place to visit-"

"London," Eric laughed heartily. "All the girls want to go to London."

"Hey," Amy protested. "I have my reasons."

"Of course you do," he replied. "And let me guess _mademoiselle_, France would be your next stop?"

"Italy, actually."

"The _bella_ wishes to see the Tower of Pisa?"

"Then it would be Greece…Romania…Switzerland…Spain…Ireland…"

"Any day now…" Eric sighed playfully.

Amy shrugged and moved closer to the window. "Scotland I would probably save for last."

Eric nodded approvingly. "And when will you take this trip?"

Her face fell and she sighed. "Whenever I have the time."

"This summer would be perfect," Eric suggested. "You won't have to worry about the university school plans. You have the time…a whole summer dedicated to a great adventure. Why not?"

Amy turned to Eric and said, "It's complicated." _"How?"_ his face asked. She grinned. "I can't have a vacation until…" _Until I know everything will be okay…until they're safe…until that bastard is dead…_ "Just when I'm ready for it."

There was no indication that the subject had disturbed Amy in any way. Her thoughts of Sam and Dean had been hidden inside well and Eric had only caught a tiny inclination that she was sad about something. He cleared his throat appropriately and said, "I'm glad you're my tour guide, Dr. Cromwell." He smiled. "Most would try and ask me if I could say the slogan from that damned Irish cereal commercial…and when I correct them and tell them I'm Scottish…they usually ask me about my thoughts on that commercial about that dog that runs through Scotland to give a man playing the bagpipes some under shorts for his kilt."

Amy couldn't help but laugh. She shook her head and said, "Just keep talking – that'll be fine with me."

"Dinner," was his sudden proposal.

_There's that James Bond inside you…_Amy thought.

"I'm new in the area," Eric said gently. "I'd like to get used to the place I'll be residing in for a while. How about dinner, tonight? Maybe a movie…I'm not sure what a proper evening is here." He smiled charmingly at her.

She was lost in his gaze for a moment; she was smiling and felt her mouth opening to say "Yes"…

"Umm…" she said instead. "I'm…dinner? I'm not…sure-"

"Oh," Eric's eyes widened; he looked apologetic. "Forgive me," he said sweetly, and honestly, "I should have known – how could someone like you not be involved-"

"No, I am…not…wait…" Amy mumbled awkwardly. Her eyes glanced at the ceiling – as if the wall would give her a complete answer to say. "It's just…" Amy admitted. "It's…" She wrinkled her nose. Eric was smiling while she was fumbling with her words. "It's complicated…" she sighed. "And I…" She looked at Eric – there was a face of complete understanding. Amy smiled and said sweetly, "There's some stuff I need to figure out…obviously…and the number one on my list is _learn how to speak_" she rolled her eyes at herself "but when things make sense…" She tilted her head to the side. "I'll let you know about dinner."

Eric nodded and moved away from leaning against the wall. He motioned to the rest of the corridor and asked, "Well milady," he said in an old, Scottish accent, "may we proceed with the tour?"

O.O.O.O.O.

"…_look where God's light is shown on the water…there you will use the Key…"_

Sam rewrote the excerpt in his own writing. He underlined the part about the 'light' and 'water' and 'key'…

He leaned against the backboard of his beach-themed bed. His head was still hurting but he had already taken enough aspirin. It was lucky, he admitted, to get a vision like that. How did Taft expect to have a 'soldier' find the journal to explain the location of the next clue…

Did Taft expect a psychic…

None of it truly mattered.

"…_there you will use the Key…"_ That line mattered.

Sam stared down at his hand, tracing the cross with his finger.

The door to the hotel room opened and Dean appeared carrying two bags of fresh-and-hot fast food.

"Here's lunch," Dean announced as he closed and locked the door behind him. He tossed one bag of food on Sam's bed while Dean removed two cups of Coke from the other. "Fine anything yet?" he asked as he took a sip through a white straw.

Beside Sam rested a tired, worn laptop. He motioned to it and said, "I've done my research. I went back to the 1800s, and further, and couldn't find much of a search on 'God's light'…"

"We'll try harder."

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed as he passed the second drink to Sam. Sam took a grateful drink – the caffeine was helping his head.

"How's that smarty-pants-brain of yours doing?" Dean asked curiously.

Sam cocked his head to the side and shrugged. "Just like every other vision…I'll live."

"Well, you haven't had a vision in a while…just something you need to get used to," Dean suggested. "I do think we need to get your head checked out by a specialist." Sam wrinkled his nose at that. "Just to make sure these visions aren't making cracks on that hard skull of yours."

Sam silently passed the laptop over to Dean who took it automatically. "I'll give it a try," Dean said plainly.

Studying his brother's face, Sam said, "You know…" he paused, swallowed another sip of Coke, "you could give her a call…" Sam shrugged. "Just a suggestion. You guys haven't talked in a while…"

Dean's face froze. Then he mulled over the decision to call…

"Later," Dean finalized.

"Dean, c'mon…"

"Dude, I'll call later."

"Chicken."

"Bitch."

"Jerk-"

"Okay, stop…" Dean rolled his eyes. He threw his hands in the air. "You said so yourself…it's not the time…"

"She might like to hear your voice," Sam grinned. "Plus…" he admitted sourly, "I'd like it if you could apologize to her for me…"

Dean grinned. "Now who's the chicken?"

Sam dropped his hands on the bed and shook his head. He then reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Dean snapped.

Sam was smiling slyly as he pressed a button and clicked SEND. Amy was his number four-speed dial.

He held the phone out and Sam grinned: "Amy could pick up any second."

"Dude, no!" Dean snapped angrily.

Sam suddenly threw the phone at Dean who caught it awkwardly. He rolled his eyes and tried to offer the phone back to Amy. Sam refused.

"Dude!"

"Dude-"

"Hello?" Amy's voice suddenly asked through the phone. There was a pause in the room. Amy waited a moment and her voice rang out: "Hello…Sam…is anyone there…?"

Dean gritted his teeth and sighed. He brought the phone to his ear and sighed.

Amy sighed: "Dean…"

Dean: "Hey…" He smiled. It was good to hear the sound of her voice…her saying his name… "Hey…I…" Dean started. He wasn't sure of what to say.

Amy: "Dean, is everything okay?"

He felt his chest hurt – he hated how much she worried. Dean angrily took Sam's laptop and threw it back at him.

Dean promised, "Amy, everything's okay…how are you…"

"I'm…" Amy's voice was quiet, as if she were trying to hide the conversation. Dean might have interrupted her at school or something. "I _miss_ you…" she admitted weakly.

Dean sighed. "I miss you too Aimes." He closed his eyes.

Amy: "I know you guys are busy…just…how are _things_?"

_Duane moved the picture from Sam's face. The demon looked at the photograph, smiled, and cocked his head to the side. "They're very pretty…" Duane crooned slyly. "And Amy…" Duane caught Dean's gaze – both furious and frightful. "Awe, Dean…" Duane thought mockingly. "I hope you told Amy how you felt before you separated…" His thick lips moved to the picture and Duane kissed the image of Amy. "I think I'll enjoy killing her more than anyone…"_

The image of their kidnapping sprung to Dean's mind. _What if the demons are intercepting the call somehow…what if they're outside her apartment…following her right now…_Dean thought fearfully.

_Duane threatened – but his voice was gently – "I don't think you get the big picture…" He smiled. "Either way – they'll die – whether you choose the life of a hunter, or the life as one of us…they will all die…" He tilted his head. "See…I'm afraid most humans won't make it through this world once we've successfully carried out our plan…death can be painful…torture…we can bring hell above the surface…" The demon stared deep into Sam's eyes. "You can at least give them the fighting chance if you just give yourself up…" He nodded seriously. "You can give Amy and Isabella a painless death – nice and quick – and they can go to Heaven and be with Mommy and Daddy and Grammy and anyone else…but if you make things difficult…they'll die a terrible, painful death…and I'll enjoy every moment of it."_

Dean wanted to punch a wall – at the same time he wanted to have Amy safe in his arms.

He did the only thing he could…

Dean started to laugh loudly. He clapped his hands while the phone was squeezed between his ear and shoulder.

Amy, confused, asked, "Dean…what-"

His laughter grew louder. Sam stared at him strangely.

"AMY!" Dean shouted randomly, still cackling. "You see-see…" he was laughing…pretending to be drunk… "Sam and I are just…laying off some steam…ya know? We're at the beach and you know it's AMAZING! Have you ever wondered how 'Amy' and 'Amazing' kinda sound the same…Amy?"

Amy: "Dean, you're drunk-"

"NO!" Dean blurted out fakely. "I'm just…_relaxing…_" He let out a laugh. "And you know, Aimes…my little Aimes…you really should do the same… 'kay? Don't listen to Frankie – listen to Dean – RELAX!"

Amy – hurt, confused, and on the verge of tears – "Dean, call me when you're not being a complete idiot."

Dean heard the dial tone and silence. The conversation was over and Dean was left, heartbroken, holding the cell phone…

"Dude," Sam snapped, "what the hell was that for…"

Dean looked at Sam and angrily threw his cell phone at his brother. "You're not the only one who decides when the time's right to protect Amy…" He shook his head. "Now's not the time for that…I'll call her later…apologize – we both will…and we'll find some way of ensuring those damned things come after her…"

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy held her cell phone in her hand. She stared blankly at it – trying quickly to push away the tears that were forming. It had been so long since she had talked to him…and he had called her on a drunken whim…

She turned, feeling Eric's confused eyes on her, holding out two cups of coffee from the university's cafeteria.

"Oh," Amy said, surprised, "thank you."

Eric handed her her cup and asked, "Are you alright?"

Amy nodded quickly. "I'm fine," she forced out. "C'mon…on with the tour."

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam sat quietly in bed researching. Dean, still upset, lied in his bed contemplating the variety of ways the demons could be following Amy. _After all, they could possess anyone…who knew? Isabella could be possessed right now…someone close to Amy – at Northwestern – could be possessed…someone could be following her right now…_

Dean hadn't been ready for that phone call. He hated himself for handling it the way he did. But he hadn't been ready…

Their previous call had been to inform her about John's death…

"_Amy…" Dean tried. He was forcing the sobs to remain inside. "Amy…" Dean had said. "Our da-dad…John…" He thought it was stupid to have said 'Dad'…she knew perfectly well who their dad was… "Amy," Dean said silently, "he's gone."_

"_Gone?" Amy blurted out incredulously. "What do you mean gone…" Even though Dean was on the phone, he envisioned tears streaming down her cheeks…_

"_He's gone, Amy," Dean forced out. "The…the Demon…"_

"_Oh God…" Amy muttered…_

_Dean hadn't been able to make out anything after that. She cried and he had cried on the phone with her…fifteen minutes…thirty minutes…even an hour passed before Isabella was on the phone. _

"_I'll take care of her…" Isabella informed. "You take care of yourself…and Sam…okay?"_

"_Thanks, Izzy…"_

"_Dean…" Isabella said quickly before he hung up. "I'm sorry…"_

Dean rolled over on his side. He wanted to sleep. He admitted that he wanted to sleep and never wake up.

_I miss you Dad…I miss you Mom…Grammy…_

_Amy…_

"Dude…" Sam called excitedly.

Dean shot up in bed and leaned over.

Sam laughed and said, "The Lighthouse of _Grace_…about thirty minutes away…was built in the late 1700s. It was built by a religious woman and the legend says that the woman designed the lighthouse herself – apparently she had a son who never returned from a supposed boating accident…so she had the lighthouse built to always show the light for her son to return home safely…"

"And…" Dean crooned impatiently.

"The lighthouse was never given an official name…the woman, named _Grace_, used to call it _'God's light'_…but after her death…the place was made a historical landmark and was officially called the Lighthouse of Grace…"

Sam moved the laptop to show Dean the picture of the white lighthouse.

"And look…" Sam said. On the top of the lighthouse – like a church – was a white cross manufactured on top. The cross resembled the same form as the cross-key Sam held in his hand.

"Well I'll be damned…" Dean realized. He jumped out of bed – grabbing his jacket and car keys from the table. "Let's get the hell out of here."

O.O.O.O.O.

The lighthouse was beautiful. It was painted white and had most likely been restored before. The small coned-roofing at the top was red-and-white striped and there, on the top, was a cross.

Sam and Dean walked across a boardwalk along the beach to reach it.

The afternoon light was perfect – and safe – and there wasn't a great number of people around.

The lighthouse had been reserved as a historic landmark and was mostly owned by the town. People were appointed to come to the light house twice a month to check on it and to clean it.

As for now, the lighthouse was deserted…

Sam looked up and could see the rotating, round lights above.

"So…why here…" Sam thought.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe she was associated with Taft…maybe went to his church or something…but if we're here…that definitely means there's something to open…the key is supposed to be used here…"

"Well, another fun scavenger hunt trying to figure out where this thing goes…" Sam sighed.

"Hey," Dean laughed, waving his arms in the air. He closed his eyes and smiled – feeling a cold breeze brush over him. He could smell and taste the salt of the beach. "At least we're getting somewhere…"

_A fifteen-year-old Dean and Amy were running along a boardwalk on the beach in Destin._

_An eleven-year-old Sam, being chased by the teenagers, ran along the sandy hill and hid behind one of the dunes._

"_Oh Sammy!" Dean, wearing only his swim shorts, called out._

_Amy, in a blue bikini top and jean-shorts, laughed as she came to his side. "Leave him alone, Dean…"_

"_Hey, we're helping the kid out," Dean grinned. "He's learning how to run faster."_

"_You shouldn't have thrown sand at him like that-"_

"_Well he shouldn't have dunked me in the water-"_

"_Maybe you shouldn't get too over empowered by your little brother," Amy laughed._

_Dean, stopping his search for Sam, turned around and glared at Amy. "What…did you say…"_

_Amy held her hands out in defense. "Dean – no!"_

_He rushed at her and Amy flew to the shore. She tried to lose him in the wet sand and felt the water crash onto the beach and hitting her ankles. Dean was close behind and suddenly Amy felt his arms wrap around her waist and the two teens fell back into the water._

_Sam, appearing behind the dunes, laughed and pointed. _

_When Amy came back up, she leapt onto Dean's back, surprising even him, and wrapped her legs around his waist and rested her arms on his shoulders. He positioned himself in the right way – waist-deep in water – and supported Amy's legs._

_She held her arms out as a breeze swept over them. The sun, beaming down on them, felt good with the water on their skin._

"_I love the sun…" Amy whispered as she closed her eyes. "Mom says it's God. I'm not sure what it is…but it sure feels good…"_

"_Yep…" Dean said, his arms still supporting her…_

_He threw her off his back and tossed her into the water again._

Dean opened his eyes as he realized Sam was fumbling with the lock.

"What? No bobby pin, curly?" Dean joked.

Sam, kneeling down, turned around and wrinkled his eyebrows. "Jerk…" he mumbled, pulling out a paper clip from his pocket.

Dean looked around – at the beach, at the water – then back at the lighthouse door.

The door was suddenly opened and Sam let out a chuckle of victory.

"Took you long enough…" Dean mocked as he was the first one to step through.

Sam rolled his eyes when he followed in closely. He closed the door behind him and was relieved there was no alarm system in sight. The place was too old and there couldn't be any wiring.

Dean took out a flashlight from his jacket when they were trapped in the darkness again. The orb of light followed up the lighthouse. There were spiral-steps leading up to the great light.

Around them wasn't that much space. The circular area wasn't even cluttered.

"I guess up we go," Dean suggested, following the light.

They finally came to the top, before the great circular light, and looked around. It was clean, not much dust, and obvious the light hadn't been used in decades.

Dean maneuvered his way around the light, finding himself on a balcony, able to look through the thick glass. The beach was still empty of people. The waves crashed onto shore and a few sea gulls were picking at an early dinner.

Sam walked around in the opposite direction. He took the cross-key from his pocket and held it in his hand. Maybe it would spark another vision, and Sam was prepared for anything…

"Sam…" Dean called from the way they had come up.

Walking back to the top of the dark stairs, Sam gave Dean a blank look and then turned his direction to what Dean was staring at.

There was a small compartment door beneath the round lighting equipment.

Into the metal was another Cimaruta charm…

"Damn, we find these things everywhere…" Dean laughed.

"'Guess that means Grace was associated with Taft…" Sam said slowly.

He suddenly almost stopped breathing.

The compartment door was old – obviously used in the 1700s-time. It was locked…

And there was a key hole – not an average key hole – it was thicker and squarer. The same size as the cross-key.

"Give it a try," Dean cajoled.

Sam took the cross-key, prayed that something good would happen, and entered the key into the hole…

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Hope you're all enjoying – reviews/comments appreciated!


	20. Ch 19 x Closer

**Chapter Nineteen – Closer…**

The small metal door opened. Dean found he couldn't let out a breath yet until Sam stuck his hand in. Sam rummaged inside for a moment – his full hand could barely fit into the small space – and then he pulled out a thin, wooden box.

To their dismay, it was obvious the box was too thin for a revolver and forty bullets to be kept inside. The box wasn't even locked – anyone could open the small, thin gold latch – and find whatever was kept there.

The second Colt wasn't in there…

Sam flipped the latch and opened the lid.

Inside was a piece of old parchment, rolled up and tied with a black bow, and beside it was a circular, _pure_-silver stone; the stone had Cimaruta carved into it.

Dean reached for the parchment and decided to unroll it then. There was no danger – nor could danger possibly, unexpectedly come through the door.

He removed the bow carefully, seeing the paper fragile, and slowly unraveled the sheet of parchment.

Dean read aloud:

"'_To a Solider who searches for the weapon:_

_The Colt lies with me_

_There will be no trouble retrieving it_

_My body rests next to a cemetery of other soldiers_

_But you'll find no headstones_

_Keep this charm with you on your search_

_As well as the cross_

_Beware of demons and darkness_

_This is the final clue_

_You only have one more place to look_

_And then may you use the weapon for Good_

_God bless_

_**A.C.**'_"

"Oh my God…" Sam whispered. "We found the final clue…_August Colt wrote this_…" He put his hands on his head in an astounded fashion.

"We're closer…" Dean nodded. "But not close enough. I want to call Ash and have him help solve this riddle while we gather weapons in case of a crisis."

Dean shut the wooden box closed before taking the heavy silver stone and stuck it into his pocket. Sam was careful to put the cross-key back around his neck. The parchment was carefully tucked away back into the box.

O.O.O.O.O.

They came out of the lighthouse and back onto the beach. The salty air came back at them gently, stroking their faces and brushing through their hair.

A wave of relief splashed over them. They were so close…

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy was on her knees as she searched through her closet. Her class ended early and she decided now was the time to attempt it…

She found the box she had kept for the last three-four months.

Standing back up, Amy took the cardboard box to her bed and placed it down on her comforter. Amy came back to her door – knowing she was alone in the apartment any way – locked the door, then closed it.

Removing the blue vest and shirt, Amy was left in just a lingerie-tank top and pants. Her anxiety and worry was causing her to sweat and almost shake. Her arms were covered in goose bumps…

Returning to the bed, Amy opened the lid and began to remove several objects from the box: a tiny carpet mat, a dozen candles, herbs she had gotten from a contact from the address book of Daryl Greene, a few matches, and a photo of John Winchester.

It was a picture she had taken years ago when she started a photography class in high school. John had been at her house, chatting with her parents at a Saturday night dinner – when the two families got together – and Amy had taken a quick snap shot of the man.

He was younger, sitting in a white lawn chair, wearing jeans and a red T-shirt. He had a small smile on his face.

Amy felt her stomach churn at the image. She forced herself to be strong…

"I hope this works…"

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean and Sam were at the hotel, awaiting the call from Ash, gathering their weapons into a black duffel bag.

O.O.O.O.O.

A small, black bowl was placed in the center of the silk mat. The herbs were carefully placed inside and Amy had all the candles lit in a circle around the ritual.

Amy stared at the picture of John for a moment, and then put the picture into the bowl.

Holding a match in one hand, Amy held a sheet of notebook paper in the other.

_Hope this works…_Amy thought again.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam carefully placed a machete into the bag as Dean checked the ammo on one of the rifles. He looked up, Dean grinned and said, "By tonight…we'll have the Colt…and we're demon hunting."

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy recited the last of the Latin spell. She had kept her voice strong and clear. Her focus had been on John…

She lit the match across her bed, seeing the flame spark, and she tossed the match into the black bowl.

John's picture soon burst into flames. The edges of the picture wrinkled, turned black, and faded away.

Sparks immediately flew out of the bowl and Amy jumped back in surprise.

She got up on her knees and looked around the room…

No one there…

"John…" Amy whispered aloud. "Where are you…"

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam answered his ringing cell phone.

"Ash?" Sam asked.

Dean paused in his packing and waited for Sam. His younger brother nodded closely to the call and opened his eyes wide. There was surprise…and a positive reaction following…

"Thanks Ash."

Sam turned to Dean after quickly putting his cell back in his pocket.

"Ash came up with a great clue…" Sam explained, stuffing another gun into the duffel bag. "He said that in the 1800s, after the Alamo, there was a group of six men who came to St. Augustine. They all jumped off the cliff, into the water, plunging to their deaths."

Dean: "Well that's cheery."

"Listen," Sam argued. "The incident was forever known as _Death of the Soliders…_and people called these cliffs – The Lion's Cliffs – as the _Cemetery of the Soliders…_"

"Sam, I'm waiting patiently for the punch line."

"Duh Dean!" Sam shouted with a grin. "First…the first Colt was made the night of the Alamo…and there are no 'graves' at this cemetery…and…on that very same cliff…stands a tiny church…and guess who it was later run by…not Taft…"

"Hannigan…" Dean whispered aloud.

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy looked around her room. The chills down her spine wouldn't go away. Had the séance worked?

She paced the room worriedly. _What have I done…did I do something wrong? Should I have even done this…_

That icy feeling returned…

Amy whirled around, instead finding her own reflection in the mirror on her dresser.

_Get a hold of yourself…_

She closed her eyes, touching her forehead, hoping all the fear and worry would be eradicated once she opened her eyes.

And she did open her eyes…

And her eyes grew heavy and Amy fainted onto the floor…

Her unconscious body was still reflected in the mirror…

But there was another figure there too…

John Winchester seemed to be standing over her body, looking at her gently, and the spirit knelt down onto the floor…

He smiled down at Amy. Carefully, the apparition leaned down and whispered into her ear: _"This is the only way we can communicate…Amy…you have to tell my boys something…_

_I'm not in hell…"_

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: This chapter must seem really random to some – but I had to update these minor but BIG parts of the story…

REVIEWS/COMMENTS MUCH APPRECIATED. (I'm just full of surprises…)

The next chapters will be MAJOR…so I better be left with some great comments on these past two chappies.

Thanks again to all who read and comment!


	21. Ch 20 x What If

A/N: THANKS FOR ALL THE GREAT REVIEWS – YOU GUYS REALLY PUT ME IN A GREAT MOOD TO WRITE – KEEP UP THE GREAT REVIEWS, AND HOPEFULLY I'LL KEEP UP WITH GREAT, SPEEDY UPDATES.

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Twenty – What If**

Amy felt a cold compress on her forehead. Her brown eyes opened slowly, hesitating to open them fully due to the light. She could hear Isabella's voice in the background; Izzy was the one to turn the lights down, due to Amy's reaction.

The person touching her forehead was obviously Michael. She saw his large eyes first then his subtle face looking intently into hers. He moved the damp towel from her face and examined gently, "You're okay."

She was in her bed and propped up on three pillows. Amy sat up more but Michael motioned for her to relax.

"You fainted," Michael explained. "Izzy found you on the floor…with all this…_stuff…_" He motioned to the séance materials on the floor. He looked at her worriedly and said seriously: "You also had a nosebleed."

Amy looked down at her white tank top. Yes, there were remains of a nosebleed.

"Damn…" Amy groaned. "I really liked this top."

"Amy," Izzy groaned. The black-haired beauty crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.

"I'm fine," Amy laughed. She looked from Isabella to Michael. "Thanks for the help Doc. I'm fine."

"What the hell were you doing?" Isabella asked sadly. "I've never seen you do this kinda stuff before." It was obvious her voodoo-experience had made Isabella uncomfortable around this sort of thing.

Amy cocked her head to the side gently and explained tenderly, "I was just doing a séance."

"Séance?" Michael raised an incredulous eyebrow.

She nodded plainly. "I was trying to contact John Winchester…" She shook her head. "That's all I remember."

"You just passed out? For no reason?" Izzy asked.

Amy shrugged. "I remember thinking the séance didn't work…then I woke up here…"

"Why the nosebleed?" Isabella asked Michael.

The doctor looked at Amy and tried to explain: "Mental strain – but considering she was doing a _spell_…hard to say."

"It's not the first nosebleed," Amy grinned. "It usually happens when I tap into some strong psychic power. In this case, I was _trying_ to use that sixth-sense-thing of mine to help the séance…guess it didn't work."

"May I advise some bed rest?" Michael said seriously. "And no more séances or any of this other _stuff_. It's obvious this stuff is hurting you…" He narrowed his eyes at her and sat down on the edge of her bed. Michael put his hand over Amy's and said, "I also want you to see a neurologist…just to make sure that pretty head of yours is okay."

"I'm fine," Amy smiled. "Don't worry."

O.O.O.O.O.

_It was about family. It was about blood. It was about the connection that had existed for centuries…_

Grace Lineman, the architect of the Lighthouse of Grace, had been married to a blacksmith named Nicholas Hannigan. They had two sons: Arnold Hannigan – Sailor – Missing after boat never returned to harbor; Mitchell Hannigan – Reverend.

Sam grinned to himself over the connection between everything. _That's how it was possible for the Colt to be protected…Cimaruta was strong between families…between blood…_

The car ride lifted their spirits as the engine revved at Dean's pressure to the gas. He was speeding along an old highway that didn't seem to have a steady speed limit.

The Lion's Cliffs were now only fifteen minutes away.

They were so close…

Sam envisioned himself holding the revolver…the Colt…in his hands…

Pointing it at the Demon's fearful face…

"The church…on the cliffs…" Sam sighed, shaking his head and revealing a crooked, relieved smile. "That's it…it's there…"

"Don't get too ahead of yourself Sammy boy," Dean grinned, tapping his fingers on his leg. He got off the highway and finally turned into another street in town. "Hell, we might find another clue."

"This hunt's almost over Dean…" Sam sighed, closing his eyes. "And if the Demon's still here…we can kill it _now_."

"Too bad we have no idea on how to find it…or summon it…" Dean rolled his eyes mockingly. "'Guess…_when_ we find the Colt…we can just go running around screaming 'Demon' or something…"

Sam knew well enough this was Dean's mechanism for coping with the _what if_: What if there was another clue…what if the Colt was already gone…

Dean: "'Don't want to dampen your fun, Sammy…we just gotta keep a clear head…think logically 'bout this…"

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy sat up in bed leaning against the backboard of her bed. She had removed her blood-stained top and put on an over-sized black T-shirt. She relaxed and stared out the open window.

Isabella – after showing Michael out – returned to Amy's bedroom and stared at her friend for a moment. The actress-to-be sat down on the edge of the bed and widened her eyes, as if expected to hear something. "So?"

Amy shrugged. "So?"

Rolling her eyes and playfully smacking Amy's leg from underneath the covers, the twenty-two-year-old asked, "So what was with the séance?"

Her eyes fell back to the open window. Amy, saddened by the previous event, turned back to her roommate and explained: "I was trying to connect with Dean and Sam's father…" Her eyes looked down at her hands folded in her laps. "I failed…" Amy whispered pitifully. "It _didn't _work…" she shook her head tearfully. "I…" her voice trembled "I really am losing my power…" The twenty-seven-year-old fought the urge to weep. Izzy was ready with open arms. Amy continued: "I thought that with my power…and the séance…there had to be a sure-way to get into contact…but it didn't work…" She looked up at Isabella and admitted slowly, "I…I'm not meant for this kind of life anymore…"

Isabella stared at Amy and reached over gently to place her hand over hers. "Don't say that…" she comforted. "You're just going through a psychic-dry-spell or something…it'll pass…don't let this stuff with Dean make you iffy about everything else…"

"Izzy…" Amy whispered sadly, "_They_ told me I was a part of this…Dean's dead mother…Sam's dead girlfriend…they told me I would help…that I would somehow lead Sam to his ultimate destiny…that I was _meant_ to be a part of this…but…" She shook her hand angrily. "What…_what if_ I've already done my part…somehow…during the last year…what if I already did what I was supposed to do…and now they're on their own…maybe I meant to go back to the old life…professor…date normal guys…have a devil-may-care attitude about the supernatural world…"

"No…" Isabella fought softly. "You play an important part in this…you saved me, remember? You all did…and I know you've done a lot of good…don't lose hope so fast, Amy…please…"

The older woman shook her head and sobbed. Isabella reached over to place her hand on the crying female's shoulder. Both women sat in silence for a minute – Amy crying, Isabella fighting the urge to cry…

O.O.O.O.O.

Hannigan was the reverend to a small church near on the Lion's Cliffs. Its occupants were usually lower-class people who walked from the nearby village. The church had been designed by his mother.

The car had to be parked in a parking lot across the street while Dean and Sam trekked across sand and stone. They each carried a black duffel bag in hand – carrying weapons – and were sure they each had a gun well-hidden in their jackets.

They were ready for anything.

Their walk included going up a narrow path along a steep hill. There were more rocks than grass and the sun was getting low again. The sky was turning orange and darkness was only a couple of hours away.

O.O.O.O.O.

Fifteen minutes passed after their rocky trail when Dean and Sam finally appeared on the top of Lion's Cliffs.

There was an old sign to mark the location. In the distance was a small white church with a white cross on top. It looked old – even from far away – and appeared that no one had entered in years. Dean and Sam had learned that the place was marked a historic district. No one was allowed inside.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean used a hammer to break through the metal lock on the single wooden door of the church. The lock, broken, fell at their feet and Sam shook his head. He hated to break things while Dean couldn't care less.

Sam turned to see that familiar, wide grin as Dean successfully stuck the hammer back into his bag and opened the door.

"You know, there are always other alternatives to enter locked places…" Sam reminded.

Shrugging, the twenty-seven-year-old hunter grinned and said: "I like the funner, quicker routes. C'mon."

They entered the church unnoticed and Sam was careful to close the door behind them.

The church had the basic structure: perfectly square, both sides of the church had a dozen rows of pews, and in front was an old pulpit and there were seats in the farther back where the choir sat.

The place was clean, but old. The pews looked fragile and the pulpit could topple over any moment. Light streamed in through the old, foggy windows. No need for flashlights, indeed.

Sam looked around and found there could be a dozen places to look. He removed the cross-key necklace from inside his shirt and stared down at it slowly. Dean had the silver Cimaruta-blessed stone in the pocket of his leather jacket. He reached inside, without Sam seeing, and rubbed it with his index finger. _For luck,_ Dean hoped.

"Let's look around," Dean ordered. "And you try and get one of those psychic vibes."

"It's not a light switch Dean," Sam complained as he moved through the pews with ease. He called: "I can't just turn it off and on."

"Well then start touching stuff…you touched the cross and it sent you a vision…just keep doing that…" Dean called back. He was walking toward the pulpit. _Going to where Hannigan would have been…_

Dean walked around the black pulpit and saw dust covering the surface. There were spider webs in all corners and a small shelf inside that contained an old Bible. There was a large, rectangular-sized maroon carpet where the reverend would have been standing.

Reaching in, Dean wiped the dust off the cover and flipped it opened. To his dismay, he didn't find another Cimaruta sign. It was just a regular, useless bible.

"So preacher-man…" Dean thought aloud. "We're here…August Colt wanted to be buried next to a cemetery…we're next to the Cemetery of Soliders…August Colt is here…" He looked around blankly, seeing Sam search the pews carefully. "So…" Dean whispered aloud, "where would you bury a body…"

Dean looked back at the pulpit. He stood there, positioning himself where Hannigan would have been…

His eyes glanced down at the maroon carpet beneath his feet. Kneeling down, Dean reached for the corner of the carpet and flipped it over…

Dust attacked his eyes and throat and Dean coughed and shielded his eyes from the cloud of dirt.

"Find something?" Sam called from across the church.

Recovering from the dust, Dean wiped his eyes and looked down.

"I think so…" Dean called.

Interested, Sam went to where Dean was and saw that his older brother had uncovered a door beneath the carpet.

To anyone not looking carefully, they would have just seen planks of wood beneath them to create the platform…

Dean and Sam knew better…

The disguise was perfect. Dean and Sam worked side-by-side to uncover the right lift and soon enough…

A secret door in the floor opened…

Dean looked down the old stairway and bobbed his head approvingly.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam climbed down first and Dean followed. Now was the time a flashlight was needed.

Dean turned the contraption on and followed the circle of light.

The basement was cluttered with more chairs and tables – similar to attic back at St. Catherine's.

"We need to be looking for a body…" Dean said aloud. "Where would you put a body here…"

"There…" Sam pointed.

Even that had surprised Dean. Everything seemed to be happening so fast.

Everything was happening quickly…soon the Colt would be in their hands…

To Dean's surprise, he found what Sam had found.

The basement floor was not made of wood – but of dirt.

And around one of the desks, in the dirt, was a cross stuck into the ground.

O.O.O.O.O.

They dug for an hour with the shovels they had luckily brought.

Nothing could describe what they were feeling. Their _Da Vinci Code_-style scavenger hunt had come to an abrupt halt. The Colt was just a few feet beneath them…

_What if it all ended here…_Sam thought. His hope made him dig deeper, faster…_What if we could kill him tonight…We could use the other bullets to finish off its kids…and any other supernatural thing we face…what if we could finally live a normal life…_

_What if…_

Sam caught Dean's attention. His younger brother was digging more vigorously than himself.

Dean wanted this just as much as Sam…

_What if the Colt is really here…what if we could kill the bastard soon…what if…after twenty-plus years of hunting…we could end all this…what if we killed the Demon…would Dad's soul be spared…what if Dad was in hell…could he be given Heaven…or better…be brought back…_

_What if…_

O.O.O.O.O.

A shadow emerged in front of the church's door. The setting sun showed the figure in the door. A small, female hand reached for the door handle…

O.O.O.O.O.

The shovel had hit something…

Finally…

Dean took an uneasy breath and locked eyes with Sam.

At the exact same time Dean and Sam dropped to their knees in the grave and began to use their hands to uncover the earth and to find the wooden box.

Sweaty and dirty again, the boys cared for nothing else but to find their buried treasure…

So much was going through their heads – similar and different things – but each with an ultimate goal: to end the war…

The coffin was found.

The old wood was still intact – some cracks – but still sturdy.

Sam reached over their hole and pulled a crowbar out from one of the duffel bags. He handed the crowbar to Dean who was excitedly ready.

"This is it…" Dean grinned, bringing the crowbar to one of the cracks on his side. He laughed and said, "I've never been so happy digging up a dude's body."

Sam smiled, wiping the sweat away from his upper lip with his wrist, and waited as Dean noisily shoved the crowbar into one of the cracks and forced the lid opened…

It swung opened suddenly – to Dean's surprise – and the older Winchester almost fell back…

There…with dead hands folded across its chest…lay the corpse of August Colt…

And squeezed in between his chest and hands…August Colt grasped a wooden box…

Big enough for a revolver and forty bullets…

O.O.O.O.O.

The figure that had entered was followed by more shadows. The lingering silhouettes approached the pulpit…seeing the opened door in the floor…

O.O.O.O.O.

The corpse was slightly close to skeleton-form. There still remained that distinctive _dead_ odor and blackened-greenish flesh. The body was not attired in the proper funeral ware – instead, the corpse was dressed in old brown pants and a red shirt with a black vest. August Colt's mouth was closed and his eyelids were shut tight. His bony hands were crossed over his chest, protecting the wooden box…

Dean reached in carefully – afraid that a sudden movement would make the box instantly disappear. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath…

Taking the box respectfully from the corpse's dead hands, Dean carefully handed it over to Sam and stared back at the corpse.

_Thank you, August Colt…_Dean thought.

Sam knelt down beside Dean. The two brothers looked at one another – dirty, sweaty, hopeful faces – and Sam studied the wooden box carefully…

The box's wood was thick and strong. It would probably take an hour's worth of banging and hammering to get the thing opened. "It's locked…" Sam noted. But the keyhole was not a regular keyhole…

He removed the cross-key from inside his shirt and stared at the end of it…

Sam took the key, stuck it into the large lock, and opened the box…

The revolver was almost an exact replica of the first one. It was solid black with the same pentagram symbol in the handle. The gun rested in a bed of soft red velvet. Underneath the gun were four rows of bullets – ten in each – and none had been used…

Sam reached for the handle carefully…he lifted it from the box…and let out the first breath since the coffin had been opened…

"Dean…" Sam gasped, holding the weapon in his hand.

Dean shook his head in disbelief. His eyes grew wide. "Holy-"

Both stopped speaking. Stopped breathing…

Each heard the sound of a gun's hammer being pulled back. The _click!_ had been loud enough to distract them from their overpowering joy…

They each looked up from the pit – Sam was ready to use the gun, but it was useless – Dean and Sam looked up into the faces of the five male hunters who had saved them before…

Stan, Murph, Vin, Aaron and Hawk crowded around the hole with guns pointed at them.

"Dean!" a weak voice called.

Dean, raising his hands in defense, then saw Michelle approach the hole too…

But her gun was pointed at them…but at Jo's head…

The girl had her hands bound around her back and struggled slightly in Michelle's grasp.

Jo had a deep gash on her forehead and a bloody lip.

"Hey there boys…" Michelle greeted.

Sam's eyes grew wide…Michelle reeled the hammer back on her own gun…still pointed at Jo…

"How 'bout we discuss us a trade?" Michelle grinned.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Sorry it took me a while to update. And sorry if this chapter seemed…_blah_…I feel like I'm rushing with the story…and honestly…I AM. I'm excited about my next story and the ones coming after that…ideas are just raining down on me…so I can't wait to start the next story…and "Dreadful Journey" is almost at its end. So please leave comments/feedback! And thanks again for all of your great reviews!

Over 5,200 hits to the story!


	22. Ch 21 x The Villains of the Story

**Chapter Twenty-One – The Villains of the Story**

His cheek crashed with dirt and Sam spat at the ground. One of the hunters shoved his heel into Sam's back, preventing him from moving. The Colt had been taken from him…again…and this time…

It had been just a human…

Vin and Murph, attired in usual hunting ware, forced Dean onto his knees in the ground. The look of fury and disappointment almost made Michelle ache at the sight of him. Softening up, Michelle grabbed Jo's shoulder and tossed her onto the ground with Dean and Sam.

The twenty-two-year-old fell at Dean's legs and he carefully helped Jo up. She looked as if she had been beaten up hours before…and roughened up again just recently…

Jo had obviously cried earlier. Her eyes were still red and her eyelids were puffy. She said nothing as her gaze locked with Dean's. _I'm sorry…_Jo wanted to say. She wanted to beg for forgiveness. Dean knew it wasn't her fault…

"So…" Dean looked up at Michelle. "How long were you playing us?"

"Not long, actually…" Michelle said, sitting down on a chair in front of them.

Sam was on his knees too, he stared at Jo, and then threw a threatening glance at Michelle.

Vin and Murph had their eyes carefully on Dean while Aaron and Hawk watched over Sam. Stan stood beside Michelle protectively.

Six guns were pointed at them – and the revolver, in its case, was in Michelle's grasp.

"See…we really were here to help…" Michelle explained. "But we were getting tired of watching over you…but then…something interesting happened…you guys kept going to these different places…and we followed…we met with that Rachel woman…"

Sam's nose flared. His neck clenched and the veins in his head were pulsing larger…

"We didn't harm her, I promise…" Michelle assured. "We asked questions…told her we were in cahoots with the two of ya…she told us the whole thing…"

The woman, in black jeans and a blue jacket, stared down at the Colt in her hands.

"This is a great weapon…" Michelle nodded. She stared at Dean. "We should be the ones with it."

"What the hell?" Dean snapped. "Look lady…_we need_ that gun…there's something big happening around here and we need that gun to make sure-"

"We're hunters too, Winchester," Michelle spat angrily. She rose from her chair. "We deserve to have it as much as you do. I can already name over fifteen targets that we can go after now…this gun is perfect…we can share…"

"So why are we the ones on our knees with the guns pointed at us?" Sam questioned.

"And Jo?" Dean motioned to the silent woman kneeling beside him.

Michelle stared sadly at Jo and said, "She figured what we were up to…she was going to try and warn you…" She shook her head. "Things got a little rough."

"You crazy bitch," Dean began. He was ready for the kick in the side from Murph – it didn't mean he could avoid it.

Dean fell back onto the ground. Jo whimpered and fell next to him to check on him. He clenched his teeth and groaned loudly. His side hurt like hell and he felt the air still being forced out of him.

"Show some manners," Murph demanded, and then laughed.

Sam stared worriedly at his brother and then back at the ringleader.

"What do you want Michelle?" Sam growled.

"Just to apologize…" Michelle said softly. She appeared a normal woman…but insanity was colored deep into her eyes. "The original idea was to tie you up and leave you here until help came…but now…" Michelle looked at the men around her. "The guys are thinking differently…"

"We can't have y'all on our tails…" Aaron explained, digging the nose of his gun into Sam's neck.

Stan took a step forward and informed, "Too risky. You would follow us. So…" He turned to look at Michelle, at the other hunters, then back at Sam and Dean. "Well…it looks like there's only one option left…" The crazed hunter pointed his gun directly at Sam's forehead.

"Wait…" everyone heard Michelle moan. She fumbled with the closed revolver case now. It was locked again… Her wild eyes looked down at Dean, still recovering from his kick, and demanded, "Where's the key, Winchester?"

Dean kept himself from automatically glancing around the cross-key that was still hanging around Sam's neck in opened view.

"Here…" Dean said weakly. He reached into his pocket and felt everyone more alert around him…guns pointed and ready…

He pulled out the silver stone with the Cimaruta charm carved into it. Before anyone could question the odd stone-

The Cimaruta stone was thrown in the center of Stan's face.

Dean swiftly swung his leg underneath Vin's leg and leapt to his feet to force Murph into the hole with a dead August Colt-

At the same time, Sam had reeled his elbow into Hawk's groin while quickly grabbing the gun from Aaron's hand-

Jo was even useful: She lunged at Michelle before the woman could fire. Jo swung a sloppy right hook into Michelle's jaw and the older woman fell with a thud.

All five men and their ringleader were on the ground. Stan's body was twitching on the ground as he held a bloody nose and coughed blood. His eyes were bleeding too…

Dean ran over to the revolver case and grabbed it beside Michelle's body; he also grabbed the Cimaruta stone.

Sam limped over to Jo and helped her back up the stairs to the stage of the church. Dean followed and quickly ran up as he noticed Vin struggling to get up.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean crawled back to the church's surface and he and Sam closed the secret door at the same time.

Jo forced the old pulpit down onto the door and the loud crash echoed through the old walls.

Sam was taking in a deep breath and panted. He could already hear men cursing below them and trying to force the door open…

"Dean..." Sam instructed breathlessly. "Go to the car. Get my bag."

O.O.O.O.O.

Within five minutes of their escape, Dean and Sam were each drilling long nails into the pulpit and into the floor.

Jo watched with a weak smirk as the Winchesters finished their handy work and stuck their drills back into a black duffel bag.

Dean slapped the pulpit approvingly and nodded. "That should keep 'em…forever…"

Sam nodded and sighed. He wiped some dirt-residue from his cheek and stood up with the black duffel bag in hand. Dean had the wooden case – with the Colt – in his hand and each motioned that it was time to leave.

"I think an anonymous phone call would work…and we can call it a day…" Dean grinned at Sam.

The three walked away from the stage and toward the exit. The five men could still be heard hollering and trying with all their might to force the door opened.

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy kept a dozen shoe boxes. None of them were filled with actual shoes.

She sat Indian-style on the floor in a fuzzy, blue robe. Finding the particular blue shoebox from her closet, Amy relaxed against her bed and opened the old lid.

The photograph on top was of her, Dean, and Sam at Christmas in North Carolina. They had been at dinner – the waiter took the photo; the image showed Amy in the middle with Dean's and Sam's arm around Amy.

She flipped through the box more and found an older photograph.

Amy and Dean were young thirteen-year-olds while Sam was nine. Little Sam was on Amy's back while Younger Dean seemed to be chasing them through a park.

Her eyes stared into the past with longing for her friends…

She could remember every detail of their smiles…their hair…that annoyed look they get when they fight with one another…

Reaching back onto her bed, Amy grabbed the sheet of paper she had printed earlier. Her eyes looked at the photo of the three of them…then back at the printed directions to the Roadhouse in Nebraska.

O.O.O.O.O.

Jo's eyes closed for a moment as she reacted from the alcohol pad being dabbed onto her lip.

Sam winced and said, "Sorry." Jo nodded and shrugged: _It's okay_, her eyes said.

Dean was busily packing up their things. He stuffed his clothes into his bag and did the same for Sam's belongings.

"There shouldn't be a rush, Dean," Sam noted, placing a small Band-Aid on Jo's forehead. "We made that anonymous call to the police…we shouldn't be worried…"

"Still," Dean sighed. "We have the Colt. We might as well get on the road…"

"The Roadhouse," Sam suggested. "We retreat there and figure out what to do next."

"I want to go with you," Jo finally said. It had been a while since she had actually said something. Her guilt and disappointment on how things had happened with the hunters was still lingering… "I just want to see my mom…then I'll be back on the road again."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Dean asked, pausing from his packing. He sat down on the edge of his bed. "Last time you did that…you met these hunters that decided to steal the Colt from us and – oh yeah – tried to kill us."

Jo pursed her lips, painfully and angrily, and protested, "Hey. I made a mistake, okay? I'm sorry…" Her voice was trembling again, as if she wanted to cry.

Sam quickly added, "It's okay, Jo." He paused, looked at Dean, then back at the female. "We'll take you to the Roadhouse. You're on your own after that."

She nodded in agreement and stood up from one of the hotel chairs. Pacing the floor, she asked, "Okay…you guys have the Colt…now what?" Dean and Sam were about to answer but Jo continued: "You're going to kill it now, right? So why flee? We can stay behind – find the thing – and kill it-"

"Hey hey hey…" Dean snapped, raising his hand. "This _we_ includes Sam and me. You're going back to the Roadhouse or you're on your own, remember?"

"Why are you being so pig-headed?" Jo barked. The blonde took a step forward. "I can help too. I need to work on my judgment of people, yes – but I can help."

"Jo," Dean rolled his eyes tiredly. "We don't know how to conjure the Demon…we don't know where to find it…or even where to start looking…"

"And maybe it's better if we wait for it to come after us…" Sam suggested. Dean was nodding to the statement…

"Oh, c'mon!" Jo whined. "We can end this here – now, in fact."

"Okay Miss Hunter-Lady-Wannabe…" Dean narrowed his eyes at Jo. "Where do you suggest we start?"

Jo shrugged…She looked down at her feet…

She started to cry…

Her whimpers made Dean and Sam looked at each other, confused, then back at the weeping girl.

"Jo-" Sam began-

Jo's head shot up. She hadn't been crying…she had _been laughing_…

_And her eyes were as black as night…_

Dean already had the Colt in his hand and had it pointed at demon-possessed Jo.

She smiled at them and laughed. "What, Dean?" it questioned. "Are you going to shoot me? Go ahead…but you kill _poor Jo too…_"

He hesitated. If it had been the Demon – Jo's life would have meant nothing…but this demon had control over poor Jo now. He hesitated. He couldn't take Jo's life…

Sam took a step back, still in disbelief that Jo had been possessed the whole time.

"I was trying to figure out what you boys were up to…" Jo grinned. "It must have been something big…I didn't even realize it until I saw the weapon…and there I was…in the church…not capable of using any power…and instead…here I am…with you…with the Colt."

The demon took a step forward. "Give me the gun…and I'll let Jo live."

Sam's eyes darted to Dean.

No one was sure of what to do.

"Not a lot of time, Sammy boy…" the demon turned its head to Sam. "Give me the gun and spare her life…or you can shoot me and kill _us both…_" Its eyes went back to Dean, who still had the Colt pointed at her. "So…whatcha gonna do Dean?"

_The Demon didn't know about the second Colt…_Dean realized.

"I've been patient enough…" Jo hissed. "Make your decision…or _someone_ will die!"

Sam, Dean, and Jo were positioned in a triangle-shape in the room. Sam's eyes were on Dean…who was staring at Jo…who was returning the evil glance…

_Give the gun…lose the Colt…save Jo…_

_Or shoot her…_

"Absolutely pathetic…" Jo laughed. "C'mon Dean…I thought this stuff would be easy for you…I mean…when it was your Daddy…you couldn't do it…but now…it's just poor, little Jo…she's not important…"

"Dean…" Sam whispered…pleading that he do something…quick…

Dean looked at Sam…then back at the demon…

He slowly handed over the Colt…

The demon's black eyes grew wide with joy…Sam felt his heart ache…

But just as Jo reached for the revolver, Dean took the end of it and swung the handle at her forehead.

Jo yelled and fell onto the floor.

Dean pulled out the Cimaruta stone and tossed it over to Sam.

Sam, catching the stone, knelt down beside Jo's body and as the demon looked up – Sam forced the stone down on her head.

The demon let out a shrill scream…

A gray, black smoke erupted from Jo's mouth. Her screams filled the room and the black smoke flooded the ceiling. It was gone, in an instant, and Jo, back to normal, gasped for breath…

Dean ran to her and quickly helped her up to her feet…

Jo, touching her head from where the stone had been placed, gave Dean a questioning look.

Sam answered the silent question with motioning for Dean and Jo to move. Jo watched as Sam bent down to the floor and revealed that he and Dean had cut up the hotel carpet earlier. The square of carpet that had been cut was removed and Jo stared down at the protective circles of the Key of Solomon engraved in the floor.

"What is that?" Jo breathed.

Dean and Sam, still breathing heavily after what had just happened, grinned. Dean said: "After we were kidnapped by the demons…we thought it best to have a trap…just in case…"

"But…" Jo thought, "But you didn't even exorcize me."

Sam held up the Cimaruta stone. He cocked his head to the side and said, "'Didn't need to. This thing did it for us…" He tossed the stone to Dean.

Dean stared down and smiled. "I'm starting to like this rock."

O.O.O.O.O.

Jo had fallen asleep on Dean's bed. She was physically and mentally exhausted from the recent possession. Apparently the demon hadn't even taken over until after the hunters had roughened her up a bit. Her golden hair covered the side of her face as she slept on her stomach. She breathed gently, sometimes subconsciously wincing at the new pain on her head – both from the Colt and from the Cimaruta stone.

Dean carefully put the covers over the other half of her body, up to her neck, and walked outside the hotel room to the balcony.

Sam sat in one of the beach-themed chairs, holding the Colt in his hand. Dean sat beside him – both were gazing at the gray sky. The smell of the salty water was so strong, they could taste it. Both were tired – but clean again – and found silence to add to the serene scene.

Looking back down at the gun, Sam shook his head and asked quietly, "What do we do now?"

He leaned forward and Dean propped his elbows on his knees, letting his face rest in his hands. "'Don't know…" Dean thought. "Maybe this is just another one of those things where the damned thing got away again…we can't just stay and wait for the Demon…"

"It doesn't make sense…Dean…" Sam murmured quietly. His eyes went back to the gray sky. "Yvonne Donnelly is dead…Aurora is another _special_ child…" He shook his head in a frustrated way, pursing his lips. "The others like me…the Demon went after them on their sixth-month birthdays…and none of our abilities showed up 'till we turned twenty-two…what about babies like Aurora…what does this mean? It's out of pattern…"

"Maybe there is no set formula," Dean admitted. He felt his chest ache at that realization. "We don't know much about this thing. Actually, we don't know jack…but…" He looked at Sam confidently. "We'll get him…we'll kill it…then we'll kill every other supernatural thing that comes in our way…" He pointed at the Colt in Sam's hand. "At least now…we're ready…"

Sam: "I still hate it." His voice was stiff. "An innocent woman is dead…a child has to grow up without her real parents…and we didn't accomplish anything-"

Dean let out a roaring, mocking laugh. "Dude, you serious?" he questioned. "We saved the Donnellys and Aurora in that fire…we have the _Colt_…the only thing helpful in destroying the Demon…and you think we haven't accomplished anything?"

The younger Winchester remained silent.

Dean let out a disappointing sigh. "Sam…right now…it's about saving _as many lives_ as we _can_…there are _always_ casualties…" He shook his head slowly. "It's hard…but we have to get through this…you need to stay strong…for Aurora's sake…" He looked at Sam sadly. "For Dad's."

Turning back, Sam nodded slowly and touched the black revolver again. His finger traced the pentagram carved into the handle.

"I wish we could have caught the bad guy this time…" Sam admitted.

He nodded in agreement. Dean sighed and said, "Well…we got six of them in a jail cell right now…" He grinned cockily. "That's good enough for now. Who knows what those crazies would have done if they got the Colt…"

Sam couldn't help but laugh.

Dean nodded and got up from his chair. He slapped Sam on the shoulder and ordered: "C'mon…lets go…we leave in fifteen…"

O.O.O.O.O.

The same demonic-possessed man in the business suit approached the dark corner of the room. A figure stood, gazing out the window, its breathing similar to the hissing of a snake.

The business man – eyes black – approached the figure professionally with his hands behind his back. When he stopped, his feet and ankles touched. "Father-"

"She is gone…" the figure said suddenly. "I know this. The Winchesters…"

"I tried to warn her…" the man in the suit said. "She had a thing for blondes…I didn't think it would be wise to do-"

"Did you figure out what the Winchesters were up to?" the figure snapped.

The man shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, Father."

The dark figure, hidden in shadow, turned. The only thing that could be seen were its yellow eyes…

"Disappointed, yes…" the Demon whispered. "But nonetheless…we've done what we need to do…we have their attention…we've given them more fear…"

"Just say the word and we attack…" the spawn of the evil creature begged.

The yellow-eyed Demon gave an approving laugh. "Not yet…" its ugly eyes went back to the window. "Not yet…"

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: There's a chapter right after this – but still leave reviews! "DJ" is almost done!

REVIEWS/COMMENTS/APPRECIATED!


	23. Epilogue x Amy

**Epilogue – Amy**

They had been driving for nearly twenty-two hours. The ride with Jo hadn't been fun either. She complained about Dean's choices in music. At one point, she even offered to fight. When Dean declined rudely, she found back, using the word "pig" and "jerk" a lot in her sentences. Sam found himself laughing most of the time. But he had to admit as well that Jo wasn't much fun in the back seat. They would have arrived at the Roadhouse sooner without her frequent rest stops and pauses to grab something to eat.

Dean, in torn jeans and leather jacket, drove with his cheek leaning on his fist against the door, while the other hand rested on the steering wheel. He drove as fast as he could in Nebraska. He wanted to get to the Roadhouse, have a drink, sleep…and get the female out of his car.

O.O.O.O.O.

Jo, finally silent, was asleep in the back seat. She was sprawled in the back horizontally with her feet propped up on the opposite door. Her head rested on the pillow she grabbed before they left the hotel back in Florida. She had her brown leather jacket covering her upper body as she slept quietly; her back was to the guys as they drove silently.

Dean cracked his knuckles quickly while driving. Sam noticed this and asked: "Want me to drive?"

"We're almost there…" Dean added gruffly.

Sam nodded. He zipped up his brown hoodie, getting comfortable in the seat, and leaned back. He let out a heavy sigh and crooned: "Can't wait to sleep on a bed…"

Dean nodded silently.

Sam looked over strangely. "Dude…" Sam asked quietly. Dean turned his head to Sam. "You've been weird this whole drive…" Sam noted. "You fought with Jo a lot…and even though it's usually your normal self…you were just _over-_doing it a bit…and now…" He sat up a bit. "Are you okay?"

He grew tense immediately. His mentally-made brick walls were crumbling around him. Dean opened his mouth to say something…but then paused. He swallowed air.

"Dean?" Sam questioned again. His growing concern for his brother seemed to grow mountainously more and more…

Dean knew Sam wouldn't stop questioning. He looked over at his little brother, rolled his eyes, and then sighed.

"I've…" Dean said slowly. "I've just been thinking about Amy…"

"Good," Sam grinned. "Call her and tell her we have the Colt…explain everything to her – she'll be-"

"No, Sam…" Dean said quickly.

Taken aback, Sam narrowed his eyes at the driver of the silent Impala.

Dean licked his upper lip and turned back a moment to check that Jo was still sleeping…

He turned back, eyes focused on the empty highway, and said, "Remember that dream…" he murmured. "The one with…Amy and me married…the kids…"

Sam nodded. "Yeh?"

Dean sighed and laughed at himself as if he had said something stupid. "I did that whole dream analysis thing…came up with something…"

"Other than you being scared?" Sam laughed.

The twenty-seven-year-old nodded. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel gently. He still wanted to avoid this conversation. More than anything, he wished Jo wasn't in the backseat. Everything felt awkward. Tense. But unavoidable… The driver continued to tap his finger against the wheel. Sam was sure that maybe Dean was done. But then, Dean admitted softly, "I love her." He turned to Sam to see the instant reaction.

Sam, a bit frozen, widened his eyes at his brother's statement. He let out a cough of disbelief. He blinked for a long moment then asked: "Wait…you…_looove her?"_

Dean wrinkled his forehead. "Yeah?"

The twenty-three-year-old couldn't help but reveal a soft, proud smile.

His eyes darted back to the road. Dean nodded and said, "Yeah…I can admit that." He pursed his lips together. "But there's nothing I can do."

"What?" Sam chuckled. "You love Amy…you _love_ Amy Cromwell…I think it's pretty obvious that we drive to see her _now _and-"

"No Sammy," Dean snapped. He seemed frustrated. Angry. Definitely pissed off.

"Dean, what the hell is wrong-"

"She's in danger, Sam!" Dean snapped. "You remember what those bastards said…they've been following Amy – Isabella too – their lives are in danger because of _us_…" His stomach felt sick. Sam's too. Both agreed with this…

Sam: "Dean, but-"

"Sam…" Dean said gentler now. "I love Amy…" He looked sadly at his hands. "And you're right…that dream did mean that I was scared too…"

The younger brother wished that they were back in St. Augustine…he wished he had killed the Demon…then none of this could be happening…

"Dean…" Sam asked softly. "So…" he paused, licked his dry lips, "what are you going to do about Amy?"

There was no response. Just the sound of the engine revving and the car moving faster.

In the back, Jo, now awake, wiped a tear forming in the corner of her eye. She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulder, trying to fall back asleep…

O.O.O.O.O.

It was nearly eleven when they reached the Roadhouse. There was a dim light coming from the windows. The place was closed, obviously, and the light meant that Ellen was cleaning up and Ash would be picking up the leftover beer bottles – or drinking from them.

The Impala turned off the dirt highway and parked beside the old building.

Dean and Sam got out of the car quietly. Jo followed, grabbing her bag, and stood outside the car for a moment.

She stared up at the Roadhouse's sign. She swallowed nervously as she put her jacket back on over her white T-shirt.

Sam shut his door and looked at Jo.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Jo looked at the front door and said, "Yeah…just…" She shrugged. "I don't want another fight, ya know?"

Sam nodded.

Dean came around from his side as he stuck his keys into his pocket. He was too tired to grab his bag from the trunk. Sam too. The three made their way up the wooden steps and toward the front door.

Neither of them noticed the white Mini Cooper parked behind the building – its bumper could be seen in the dark night.

O.O.O.O.O.

Jo wanted to walk in first. She did slowly but surely. Her feet moved against the floor in small paces. Sam followed and Dean was left to hear the door close behind him.

Everyone was quiet. No one moved.

And it had nothing to do with the surprised look on Ellen's face when she saw her estranged daughter standing near the door way.

Sam and Dean, standing six feet apart, gaped at the only Roadhouse newcomer.

She sat on one of the stools with a glass of water before her. Ellen was directly behind her – they had obviously been chatting earlier.

Her complexion was fresh – she had just arrived. She wore jeans, black boots, and a thin baby blue sweater. Her hair was tucked behind one ear. She was beautiful in the dim light. _In any light,_ Dean thought.

Amy, her face frozen with the same expression on Sam and Dean's faces, stood up from the stool slowly.

Dean felt his heart stop beating. Or maybe it was beating faster…

Sam wanted to smile…he wanted to run to her and hug her…but seeing her – and still surprised at the sight of her – was forced to stand in the same position.

Amy took several steps forward, away from the bar, and approached Dean first. She seemed locked in his gaze.

Dean couldn't help but take a step forward too. It had been long…

_Too long…_

Ten months without hugs…kisses…a smile…

Amy walked with her hands folded in front of her. Dean's hands were flat by his sides…

They stood, inches apart, with their faces studying each other…

Nothing had changed…Amy revealed a small smile, happy there were no new scars or wounds…

"Dean…" she breathed gently. Her eyes were getting wet. She shivered at the thought of smiling or of reaching out to touch him…

"Amy…" Dean whispered back. His bottom lip wanted to grin, but the upper one wasn't functioning correctly. He actually felt weak in the knees…

"I want to tell you something, Dean…" Amy said slowly. Her words came out slow… She thought about what to say next…or how to say it…

Dean gulped. He nodded and said, "I have to tell you something too Amy…" Amy was ready to say something but Dean added: "Let me go first…"

Amy nodded slowly.

Dean sighed and let out a deep breath. _You're so beautiful…_he thought as he watched her patiently waiting for him to say something.

"Amy…" Dean began. His composition changed suddenly. He stood straight, so now his face was farther away from hers. He licked the corner of his mouth and said, "You shouldn't be here."

She was about to question what he said-

"Amy…" Dean let out a small, fake laugh. "This can't be happening…"

"Dean-"

"Amy, no…" Dean interrupted. "You really shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be a part of this…in fact, you're not anymore."

The happy tears that had formed earlier were now turning into tears of sadness…

"I thought the ten months would go by…and we'd get over it…" Dean said seriously. "I hoped that we could work…" He wanted to bite his tongue. He wanted to stop talking. He just wanted to hold her… "But seriously Amy…" Dean forced out. "This couldn't _possibly_ work…"

Amy's eyes grew wider. "Dean-"

"Can I finish, please?" he snapped. He hated himself more and more… "Go home." He tried to smile…but his lips were trembling. "Go back home…live your life…stay there…" _Damn you Dean…damn you…_ "If we keep doing this…we're going to get each other killed…" _Stop talking…tell her how you really feel…tell her-_ "Things are getting bigger. Bigger than us…" _You bastard…_ "Just leave now…please, Amy…"

The room was filled with silence. Ellen and Jo stared tearfully at the heartbroken woman in front of Dean. Sam wanted to do something…he had to something…but he was glued to the floor.

Amy suddenly felt a wave of ache drown her. She wouldn't let herself cry…

She hated seeing that smile on his face. This was him trying to push her away…she knew this…but there was nothing she could do now… Was this how it would be now? She wished Sam would come to the rescue…slap Dean to his senses…

Hurt. Depressed… She had come all the way just to see him…even if it had been just a moment's glance…

It didn't matter if she fought. It didn't matter how hard she tried. Dean had made the final move.

And she felt her heart break…

Amy nodded slowly to Dean's final words.

She took a step forward anyway…

Her lips were inches away from his. Dean couldn't pull himself away…he wanted to…he _had_ to…

Her face grew closer to his. Her small lips gently placed a kiss on his cheek.

Lips close to his ear, Amy moved in more and whispered, "I _love_ you…Dean…"

Amy couldn't see the pain rush into Dean's expression. He fought the tears that were forcing through his closed eyelids…

Without looking at anyone else in the room, Amy moved pass Dean and opened the Roadhouse door. Dean, back to the door, heard the door slam shut behind her. He detected the quiet sounds of sobs as Amy disappeared…

He let the tears roll down his cheeks…roam free till they reached his chin and fell onto the floor…

"_I love you too, Amy_…" Dean whispered to the air.

**O.O.O.O.O.O.O.**

A/N: "Dreadful Journey" really made my heart break. I hope you guys enjoyed the story and don't hate me too much on how things ended here… The story didn't go as long as I hoped it would be, but I'm very excited to move along in the series… I'll update Part 6 later in the week – maybe even by Monday.

Please leave lots and lots of reviews/comments – and don't be too upset on how things are with Dean and Amy! Everyone have a great weekend – and if I get more than 100 reviews (in total) on this story, I'll update Part 6 by MONDAY.

-Slayer Isis


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